And You Will Know Me Still - Part 3
by theicemenace
Summary: *On hiatus until after "Civil War"* Bucky Barnes was set adrift after the fall of SHIELD. Where will he go? How will he survive? Will he be able to exist in a world he's unprepared for? Or will he have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get get by? Some chapters will be closer to M and will be noted at the beginning of the chapter.
1. Chapter 45

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora and ladygris for their input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 45**

 **New York City**

 **Undisclosed Location**

Steve shined a flashlight around the interior of the room, taking in the thick walls, lack of windows, and the ability to secure the doors in case it became necessary to lock Bucky inside. The only way to know if it would hold his boyhood friend would be to try it out himself. Stepping out into the hall, he faced Sam and Maria. "Looks good."

Maria turned the tablet so Sam could see it. "This is a preliminary list of the supplies we'll need, and alterations that we'll have to make so Barnes will be comfortable, and the rest of us will be safe, just in case."

Hill scrolled from page to page almost faster than Sam could read, but he got the gist. "I have a few ideas myself."

He took the tablet, tapped at the screen, and handed it back. She looked over what he'd written, nodding. "Now we need someone who can do the work."

Sitting back in his seat, Sam waved his hands. "Don't look at me. I can swing a hammer, change a light bulb and use a shovel, but that's it." He watched as a slow grin came over Hill's face. "You know a guy."

"I know a guy. You know him too." She reclaimed the tablet, scrolled a few screens, and held it for him to see.

Heaving a long sigh, Sam surrendered to the inevitable. "Barton?"

"After the circus, and before joining SHIELD, he made his living as a contractor. He can do the work, and we'll help."

Sam chuckled. "Of course we will."

They spent the next couple of hours going over the details on IM with Barton.

Steve had already worked out the logistics of using this particular location and had come up with the same conclusion as Maria and Sam. "He was invited last time, and he has been again."

The trio headed for the exit with Sam bringing up the rear.

Maria exhaled loudly. "Steve, how long are you going to let Romanoff run this show?"

He loved Maria, but that didn't stop him from being annoyed with her sometimes. "She's the only one who knows where Bucky is."

"You're Captain America, Steve," Sam reminded him, "The leader of the Avengers. Order her to pony up the address and we'll go pick him up."

Steve huffed, his good humor gone now as they walked down the street. "You and I both know that the Black Widow only follows orders when it's in her best interests to do so. Not to mention her interpretation of those orders is often suspect."

Sam huffed, knowing Steve was right. "So what're we going to do until she decides to bring Barnes in?"

The last of the coffee went down Steve's throat. He crushed the container and tossed it in the recycling bin in back of the building where they'd parked a few blocks from the safe house. Maria tossed him the keys and they got in. "We wait."

 **New Mexico**

Standing just inside his room, James heard Natasha pour a glass of wine and return to her room.

Too restless to lie down, he paced the length of the room while rubbing his hands together, not knowing if he should be relieved or annoyed that Natasha hadn't followed him. Both, maybe.

After their dance, she'd kissed him, and it felt different than the other times. With it, her scent had changed, stirring memories. And the significance of their second kiss had been plain even to him. If that hadn't been enough to convince him, the kiss would have done it. Natasha wanted to sleep with him. And if the truth be told, he'd wanted them to be together in every sense of the word for some time. Why then was _he_ in here and _Natasha_ at the other end of the house? He couldn't explain it to himself, so how could he explain it to her?

James made two more laps, and came to a decision that would change his relationship with Natasha from this day forward. He jerked open the door and quickly made his way through the kitchen, and across the living room, stopping in front of her door with his hand raised to knock.

He heard a click, and the small wedge of light glowing on the wood floor at his feet went out. The bed springs creaked as Natasha got comfortable, putting an end to whatever fantasy his addled brain had cooked up.

Taking Natasha's cue, James went to the kitchen for a glass of wine. He got as far as the hall, and went back for the bottle, just managing not to slam his door. The first glass went down easy. Instead of pouring a second one, he drank from the bottle until it was empty. Sitting on the side of the bed, he waited for the buzz to start. In the past, he would feel the alcohol's effects after two glasses of beer or wine, though it would take much more than that to get him drunk. Tonight, he felt nothing. Not the slightest effect from nearly an entire bottle of wine.

Angry that he wouldn't even have the satisfaction of getting drunk, James drew back his arm, preparing to throw the bottle at the wall, stopping in mid-motion. The crash would likely disturb Natasha.

He placed the bottle on the nightstand with the glass, stripped out of his clothes and went to take a shower. Setting the water to cold, he had just stepped under the spray when he heard the squeak of the bathroom door opening. A moment later, the shower curtain was pushed aside. Natasha stood there wearing only a bathrobe. Her green eyes were wide and sparkling with an emotion he hadn't seen in many years. Then, she smiled as her hand worked the tie free. She pushed the material off her shoulders, letting it fall into a fluffy pool at her feet. James returned the smile and adjusted the water temperature over to hot as she stepped over the side of the tub and pulled the curtain shut.

 **Morning**

Natasha awoke slowly, waiting for the bright sunshine that came in through her bedroom window to touch her foot where it stuck out from under the covers. Without opening her eyes, she snuggled deeper into the softness of the mattress. She was about to drift off again when she sensed she wasn't alone. Her eyes fluttered open, making a quick scan of the room without betraying that she was awake.

Something was wrong. Though it had a similar nautical theme to match the rest of the house, this wasn't her room. Here, the color scheme had more browns and greens, where hers was dominated by red, white and slate blue.

The soft susurrations of breathing whispered in the air, telling her someone was behind her, and was the source of feeling of being watched. The house was so far from everything and everyone, it could only be one person.

Lying next to her in the bed, the covers draped over his hips leaving him bare down below the waist, James smiled when their eyes met. "Good morning."

The night before came back to Natasha in a rush. The dancing, the kisses, the text from Clint telling her he was coming to get her and bring her to the farm, and her telling him to stay away. A glass of wine, joining James in the shower, and all that happened after. It was all indelibly etched into her memory. She had known it was a bad idea, and hadn't cared. Still didn't.

Though smiling, James had a look in his eyes that Natasha recognized. He was concerned that she had regrets. The truth was she did. She should get out of bed, go back to her room, and forget about what happened until their lives were sorted out. But after everything she and the Avengers had been through, she wanted to feel something besides the nothingness her mind had escaped into, leaving James to take care of her when she should've been caring for him.

Lifting the covers, Natasha rolled onto one knee, swinging the other leg up and over so she was astride his hips, holding him close. The hair on his chest tickled her skin as she caressed his mouth with hers. He returned the favor, his arms surrounding her, pulling her tightly against him.

Their lips parted, and she smiled dreamily. "Good morning, _malenkii_." Laying her head on his shoulder, she toyed with the newly grown hairs on his chest. "How did you sleep?"

James lifted her hand to weave their fingers together. "Better than I have in months. You?"

"The same, thanks to you." Rising up on her elbows, she touched his face, enjoying the feel of his beard stubble against her fingertips. His hand cupped the back of her head, bringing her down for another kiss that started out deliciously tender and built to a fever pitch.

~~O~~

Even after their night of passion, James still felt some embarrassment at being naked in front of Natasha. Without a word, she slid out of bed, and handed him the boxers lying on the floor. He put them on then helped her into the robe that had been left on the bathroom floor when she'd joined him in the shower. No woman had _ever_ offered herself to him in the shower before. Not that there were that many, no matter what he'd told Steve. It was at once sensuous and sweet.

She pulled the robe closed, and tied the belt. James smoothed his hands over the outside of her arms and around her waist, bending down to brush a soft kiss over the sensitive skin of her neck. Turning within the circle of his embrace, she kissed his lips, and stepped back, forcing him to release her. "My turn to cook. I'll change and meet you in the kitchen."

Then, she was gone. There had been something different in this kiss, almost as if she were saying good-bye, distancing herself from him. Did she regret seeking pleasure from him, using his obvious affection for her to offset the horrors she experienced at the hands of spiteful children consumed with anger? The fact that Wanda and Pietro Maximoff had seen the devastation their thirst for revenge had done, that they were responsible for the deaths of nearly a thousand people, and had changed course meant less than nothing to him. They'd nearly killed the woman he cared deeply for, and that could not be forgiven. Not for a long time.

James felt he should be resentful that he was nothing more than a balm to soothe Natasha's injured psyche, but he wasn't because he'd had a similar motivation. The years of abuse he endured at the hands of his captors had left him damaged physically and emotionally. And if two broken people could help each other rise above the wounds of the past by spending the night in each other's arms, he would count himself lucky to have known her.

The rattling of pans in the kitchen brought him back from his introspections. He pulled a shirt on over his head, quickly shoving his arms into the sleeves, and reached for his socks and pants. Once dressed, he put on sneakers and joined Natasha in the kitchen. The stiffness in her spine was at odds with the smile she flashed him over her shoulder.

"Want help?"

She shook her head. "It's time for me to pull my own weight again. Stay and keep me company."

James watched Natasha mix ingredients in a bowl while the griddle heated. Wanting to help in some way, he got out cups, plates, silverware and napkins to set the table.

The coffee pot sputtered as it completed the brewing cycle. He poured them each a cup, set one where she could reach it, and returned to the table. James' memory told him he'd been a master at small talk, however, he couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't sound idiotic.

Taking his cup, he walked over to look out the window at the riot of colors blossoming in the garden and the field beyond. Birds and insects swarmed around, hunting for treats or their daily meal. Something moved at the limits of his vision. "Natasha," he whispered, waving her over.

She came to his side holding the spatula in one hand. He pointed, and they shared an amused glance. "Let's avoid that area when we go for a walk later."

"Not up to tangling with another skunk?"

"No!" The vehemence in her tone made him smile. She turned from the window. "Breakfast is ready."

James returned to the table, scooting his chair in as she set a plate in front of him piled high with pancakes and sausage. He waited for her to join him then picked up his fork and knife, relieved to find their pervious camaraderie had returned.

Every few minutes, Natasha would glance at him and away, as if she were having trouble finding the words to say what she was feeling, or was reading him. James shared her reticence with bringing up their night in his bed, but someone had to get the ball rolling. "Natasha…"

"Clint and his family call me Nat, and Bruce called me Tasha."

It didn't make any sense that she'd bring up the nicknames her best friend and ex-lover used for her unless she now considered him also an ex-lover, or worse, simply a friend. Neither scenario appealed to him. "Natasha," he stated firmly, letting her know what he couldn't say, "last night was incredible."

She laid her fork on the edge of her plate so she could take his hand. "For me too."

At her touch, he nearly blurted out his true feelings. Instead, he went with, "It can't happen again. Not yet."

"I agree."

James' fingers involuntarily tightened on hers. She tugged, and he promptly released her. "You do?"

"Mm-hmm." Natasha gave his arm a squeeze. He looked down, and the contrast between her delicate fingers and his metal arm reminded him of all the pleasure they'd brought to each other during the night. That same hand touched his cheek, urging him to look at her. "We both have issues we have to deal with before taking on any sort of long-term physically intimate relationship. Issues that demand our full attention. I'm not saying 'never'. Just not now."

James heard her words as well as the meaning behind them. In his past life as a young man on the prowl, he wouldn't have caught on so quickly to the fact that she wasn't dismissing them becoming more to each other than what they were. That there was hope for the future. What did that say about the man he used to be? The major point was that that his life, his _world_ , was vastly different now. _He_ was different, and even if he could go back in time knowing what he knew now, he'd probably do it all the same. But he couldn't be that man anymore. Not with a woman like Natasha. With his right hand, he brought those tempting fingers to his lips. "You are the most amazing woman I have ever met."

Grinning, she reclaimed her hand, picked up their plates and carried them to the sink. She turned on the water, and returned for the rest of the dishes, leaning close enough to whisper, "You ain't seen nothing yet, _malenkii_."

Tantalized by the statement meant to disturb his peace of mind, James stood up from the table, undecided on how to respond. He went with his first instinct, spinning her around and trapping her against the counter with an arm on either side. They both knew she could easily get away, yet she stayed. Leaning close so that their bodies barely touched, he slowly lowered his head. Her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss, eyes squinting with disappointment when he veered off to one side to press his cheek against hers. With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, "Neither have you… _malenkaya_."

Taking two steps back, James added a cheeky lift of one eyebrow before leaving by the patio door. Where he was headed, he didn't know or care, just as long as he made a grand exit.

~~O~~

The door closed behind James, and Natasha let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. At no time in her career as a spy had a man made her speechless with desire as he'd done with just three words. But was this lust or love? Setting that question aside for another time, she went back to washing the dishes, thinking about take a long, cold shower.

By the time she'd finished cleaning the kitchen, her body had calmed somewhat, but not enough. Needing something physical to help take her mind off of getting naked with James again, she changed into hiking boots and set out for the bridge. Their last trip to town had taken all day because she refused to ask Clint to leave his family just to take them to the grocery store. However, if the bridge wasn't repaired soon, she'd pull in a few favors. The Avengers' defeat of Ultron had regained their superhero status in the eyes of the public, for the most part. There would always be detractors, those who thought they were more of a menace than champions of the people. Even now there were whispers of a plan to make Inhuman registration mandatory, to make certain that others like Steve would be held accountable for their actions. She wasn't certain what her opinion would be if push came to shove.

~~O~~

Coming around the last curve in the road, Natasha saw James standing with his arms crossed staring at the damage wrought by the storms. The right side was intact. However, even if there was room for the SUV to cross, the bridge wouldn't support its weight. And the only change since the last time they'd been here was the opposite side had been blocked off with bright orange barrels that probably glowed in the dark to stop anyone from driving onto it at night.

She came up next to him and crossed her arms. "Clint could do the repairs. Take maybe a week."

James hadn't so much as looked at her since she arrived on the scene. He also didn't appear to be surprised that she was there. "So call him."

"I was thinking more along the lines of giving the locals a kick in the pants by calling in a favor or two. Stark could have it done within a day with one phone call, but then he would know where we are, and I don't think you're quite up to meeting Iron Man yet. He's an acquired taste."

"I've read about him, and the others."

There was a long pause. Natasha knew what he was going to say next, and beat him to the punch. "What if we blow this Popsicle stand and go to New York? Steve, Hill, Sam and Clint are preparing a safe house for us." She felt James stiffen next to her, fear coming off of him in a wave. Though she'd told herself and him that they would keep their distance, she slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. "It'll just be you, me and Steve at first. Nothing to worry about."

James managed a smile. "Not worried, as long as you're with me."

Tilting her head to look at him, Natasha gave him a cheeky half-grin. "Do you have _any_ idea how corny that sounds?"

"Uh…"

"It's okay. Corny works for you." She reached up with her free hand to brush the long hair away from his face. He inhaled sharply, and their eyes locked for a breathless moment. Then they were in each other's arms, hunger and more in their kiss. James picked her up and laid her in the warm grass that grew alongside the narrow road. The heat their bodies generated together grew until it consumed them.

 **Three Days Later**

"Everything okay back there?" Clint called out from the cockpit.

James looked up when Natasha touched him on the hand. He nodded, and she smiled. "We're good. How much longer?"

Clint snorted a laugh. "Only been in the air ten minutes, Nat. It's a good two and a half hours till we land. Relax. Get up and move around if you want."

He left Natasha's side to explore the quinjet, peering at the equipment with curiosity, comparing it to the craft he'd learned to fly as the Asset, inhaling sharply at the memory of causing the destruction of so many of them and the deaths of their pilots.

Natasha eased past him, going into a small compartment in the back he assumed was the bathroom. The door had barely closed when Clint came to stand with him, acting as if they were friends meeting on the street. "How goes the twenty-first century assimilation?"

"Slow, but I'm getting there."

Clint tossed a glance over his shoulder. "There're a couple of things Nat might not have thought to teach you."

"Such as…"

Clint extended his left hand, fingers curled into his palm. "Fist bump. It's kinda like a…"

"Handshake. Yes, I know." James touched his fist to Clint's, taken aback when the other man, opened his hand and wiggled as he drew back. "What-"

"That's an exploding fist bump. It works with or without sound effects." He demonstrated, making the sound of an explosion.

James nodded with a smile. " _Spasibo._ "

" _Ty govorish' po-russki?_ "

" _Da. Ne po vyboru._ "

Continuing in Russian, Clint lowered his voice. "How is she really? I know she says she's recovered, but…"

Copying Clint's pose from the first time they met, James shoved his thumbs in his belt. "She is the Natasha we both know. Strong, independent, passionate." He looked down at the floor for a moment, watching Clint's expression from the side. "Loving."

Though he tried to hide his reaction, Clint's eyes narrowed at the last, and James knew that he knew they'd slept together. Before Clint could comment or make some sort of threat, Natasha came from the back to join them.

"Not talking behind my back, are you, boys?"

Clint grinned, and switched back to English. "Just filling in some of the gaps in his education, _sestrenka_." He nudged James and nodded. The men performed the exploding fist bump and looked to Natasha for approval. She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she dropped into one of the jump seats.

"Listen up, Barnes, 'cause this is important information when dealing with women, related or not." Clint raised a finger in the air. "Do _not_ call women baby-doll, dame, broad, cookie, dolly, chick, or babe, unless you're kidding around, or she's your sister, girlfriend or wife. There are also some not-so-nice words I won't repeat in mixed company that you should never, _ever_ use. My advice? Look 'em up on the Internet, memorize them, then delete those pages from your browser history."

Confused, James could only nod. For the next hour or so, Clint went over the current rules for dating, dealing with pushy sales people-when to be diplomatic, and when to be rude, ordering in a drive-thru, ordering in a Starbuck's, shopping online, driving in New York, and the Bro Code. For her part, Natasha just sat in her seat shaking her head.

The pilot's console beeped, and Clint went to take over from the autopilot. Twenty minutes later, they were on the deck of a ship almost identical to the ones James had tried to stop Steve and his friends from blasting out of the sky, wondering if any of the crew on board had been involved in that incident. He was about to find out.

The quinjet landed on the deck with barely a bump, a tribute to Clint's flying skills. The archer passed him to open the hatch then preceded Natasha and he down the ramp. He saw a number of crew members who blatantly stared as they crossed the deck, whispering and pointing.

His footsteps faltered with the nearly overwhelming urge to apologize, and beg forgiveness. Natasha took hold of his arm, pulling him along, whispering, "Ignore them, _malenkii_."

They descended another ramp to the dock where an SUV similar to the one they'd left at the safe house in New Mexico was waiting. Clint got behind the wheel, touched a control on the dash and the windows darkened to where James could see out, but no one could see in. Clint navigated the traffic and people that clogged streets of New York as if he'd been born to it, occasionally swearing in several languages at other drivers, and a few pedestrians.

Soon, James recognized the names of streets and some of the buildings still standing from when he'd been a child. They passed a sign that read, "Welcome to Brooklyn", and it wasn't long until Clint pulled up behind an old warehouse and parked. He turned in his seat. "You don't have to do this, Barnes. I know a place where you can hole up for a while."

James considered Clint's sincere offer, given in friendship much as Natasha had from the beginning. He shook his head. "Thank you, no. This has to be done."

He undid his seatbelt, and Natasha did the same. "Clint will wait here, while you and I go on ahead to get you situated. Steve will join us later. We want you to be comfortable in your new surroundings before anyone else comes in." He nodded once, and opened the door. Natasha came around to his side. Both were dressed similarly to the people James had seen clogging the sidewalks of his former home, now and all those months ago.

Natasha wore jeans, boots, a black shirt, and a gray jacket with the hood up. If she was hoping to go unnoticed, she'd failed miserably, because James couldn't foresee a time when she wouldn't turn heads.

He wore the faded red shirt with buttons down the front, the top two left open over a blue t-shirt, dark pants, and boots. Clint got out with them. He handed over a battered cap which James put on, tugging the bill down over his eyes. The men shared an exploding fist bump, leaving out the sound effects.

Hands shoved in his pockets, James walked beside Natasha as they took a random path through back alleys, sometimes even cutting through stores. She stopped, nodding at a brick building two blocks down on the left, the one with the faded Coke sign painted on the side.

They crossed the street, and had gone a half block when Natasha stopped in her tracks, turning her head side to side. Finger to her lips for quiet, she touched her ear, telling him to listen. Cocking his head to the side, James concentrated on blocking out the sounds of traffic and people's voices. And there, barely discernible, he heard the unmistakable sound of an automatic weapon being primed.

~~O~~

The man in black crouched behind a stack of crates in the semi-darkness of the warehouse having already plotted out his revenge on SHIELD and the Avengers, concentrating on Captain America, the Black Widow, Falcon, and especially on the Asset. In his mind, they were all to blame for the failure of the coup that had been meticulously planned by HYDRA leader Alexander Pierce and his hand-picked team. Also on the list was the ATCU, the Advanced Threat Containment Unit, and their leader, Rosalind Price, while steering clear of the creature known as Lash. He had attempted to recruit the Inhuman to their side after hearing about his crusade against those he deemed a threat, but all he'd done was put him and his team on the creature's radar.

The latest rumors to hit the coconut telegraph said that Lash could disguise himself as a human, and had infiltrated SHIELD. As long as he didn't interfere with current or future missions, the man in black dismissed Lash as unimportant to the grand scheme.

He waved his team forward, creeping through the darkness to the entrance. His 2IC held out a tablet that showed a real-time video of the Black Widow and the Asset walking toward the warehouse. Two clicks on the radio signaled thirty seconds to go. Keeping his voice low, he whispered, "Take the Asset alive. Leave the Black Widow to me."

Counting in his head, the man in black held up a fist, and exactly on zero, the strike team burst out of the warehouse, surrounding the pair who didn't seem surprised to see them. Natasha fought back, but was overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

The leader took a device from his vest, pointed it at the Asset and touched the activator. The Asset cried out, his right hand going to his head as he fell to his knees. The man in black pushed his way between two of his men while pulling an auto injector from his vest, already primed with a double dose of an experimental paralytic that would negate the need for artificial ventilation as it did not affect autonomic functions like breathing and heart action. He pressed it against the Asset's neck, and pulled the trigger. _Psht!_ The Asset wavered, and fell over onto his side, unconscious. He signaled for the men to take him away, and they were soon gone from sight, vanishing into the warehouse.

As for the Black Widow, one of his men had hit her with a Taser, rendering her unconscious. She lay on the sidewalk, face up, while the man in black and two others stood over her gloating. Taking out a Beretta, he chambered a round, aiming at the middle of her forehead.

 **TBC**

A paralytic is a neuromuscular blocking agent that binds to acetylcholine receptors post-synaptically and inhibit the action of acetylcholine. This blocks neuromuscular transmission and causes paralysis of the muscle.

Neuromuscular blocking agents are used as an adjunct to anesthesia, only when artificial ventilation is available, to produce muscle relaxation in order to prevent muscle movement during surgery.


	2. Chapter 46

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

 **WARNING:** This chapter may contain content that is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

Some of what I write may go over into what some believe to be not suitable for children under the age of 18. That is the reason for the warnings at the beginnings of the chapter that, in MY opinion as the author, could be rated as M by FF. I won't change the rating from T to M because many readers would pass up stories with an M rating without even checking it out, and the greater part of the story falls within the T rating.

If you have complaints about my writing, you're free to not read further. If you're just going to read so you can "troll", please go back under the bridge, and stop trying to take away my first amendment rights.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 46**

Clint kept to the shadows while following Natasha and Barnes at a discreet distance. Natasha hadn't actually ordered him to stay behind, so technically, she shouldn't be pissed when she found out. _Yeah, like_ _that's_ _gonna happen._

With his back against the wall, he sidled up to the corner and peeked out, his anger rising as his friends were surrounded by heavily armed men. Barnes was disabled, drugged, and taken away so quickly, Clint hadn't a chance to intervene. Three men stayed, two keeping watch while the third, obviously the leader, unholstered a weapon.

Clint unslung his bow, nocked an arrow and sent it flying to stick in the shoulder one of the men standing over Natasha. The man cried out and stumbled against the side of the building. One of his comrades came out and helped him into the warehouse, using gunfire as a distraction.

Their leader turned, bringing his weapon around, sighting on Clint, and unloading his entire clip. Clint dove behind a row of trashcans, bullets pinging off the cans and the sidewalks. Coming up on one knee, he shot off another arrow. The man grinned evilly as he switched the weapon to his left hand, the right coming around to grab the arrow out of the air. He tossed it aside as the muzzle of the weapon came up again.

With his best friend's life at stake, Clint didn't waste time marveling at the man's reflexes. He dropped the bow, snatched the Glock from his waistband and surged to his feet, already firing, aiming for legs and arms instead of chests protected by Kevlar, taking down the second man.

The one left standing came toward him, passing into the light where Clint could see his face was covered with scars. It was a face he recognized: Brock Rumlow, the leader of Pierce's personal strike squad.

The Glock's ammo ran out, and Clint went back to the bow, sighting on the middle of Rumlow's forehead. Still grinning, Rumlow spread his arms to the side, making a show of throwing his weapon out of reach, taking advantage of Clint's moral compass that prevented him from killing an unarmed man. And though Clint was tempted to take the shot anyway, he cursed under his breath as he pointed the arrow at the ground.

Rumlow helped his companion stand, and together they entered the warehouse where Barnes had been taken.

Clint ran to Natasha's side, falling to one knee. He checked her pulse, relieved to feel it strong and steady. He slapped her cheeks to bring her around. "Nat! C'mon! Wake up!"

Her head lolled to the side. She'd obviously been hit harder than he first thought. Clint scooped her into his arms and made the return trip to the SUV in record time. He laid Natasha in the front passenger seat and reclined the back. Taking out his phone, he made a call. "It's Barton… Not quite. They were ambushed just short of the safe house by Rumlow and his goons… They got Barnes… Yes, Nat's safe. She's with me… That rat b*****d disabled Barnes, and knocked him out… Sedative, I think… That would be my guess too… But if they could control him, why didn't they use it before now? … No, Nat's still out… A while, I think. We'll meet you at the safe house and work out our strategy from there… Yes, the line to kill Rumlow _is_ a long one, and getting longer all the time. Thirteen will want in on it, too… Be there in a few."

Clint shoved the phone into his back pocket, reached in to buckle Natasha's seatbelt, slammed the door and got behind the wheel of the SUV. He started up, shifted into gear, and drove down the alley, taking a roundabout path to the safe house.

~~O~~

Rumlow sent everyone out of the room while he dealt with the Asset. He'd been chained to the wall to control his movements. It had been tested, and could withstand even the Asset's strength and then some. Pacing out of reach, he congratulated himself for locating the Asset, and separating him from Romanoff.

The Asset was just coming around from the neural short circuit and paralytic he'd received. He turned over onto his knees, unable to go any farther, groaning.

Rumlow got down on one knee, grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. "Welcome back, Asset."

The eyes were unfocused and glazed as he reached out with his right hand. Rumlow pushed the arm down, his mouth curved in an unpleasant smile. "Don't know where you've been all this time, but you're working for HYDRA again. We have a long list of targets that need removing."

The Asset's mouth opened and closed, and Rumlow gave him a shove as he got to his feet again, knocking him over. He rolled onto his back then to his hands and knees again, dirt, dust and other nasty bits soiling his clothes. "Got something to say, _Asset_?"

The Asset's head fell forward then slowly came up, and their eyes met. He shook his head, and his mouth formed words without sound. He sat on his heels, and his right hand came to rest on his thigh. He spoke again, clearer this time, his voice raspy. "I won't kill for _you_ or anyone else."

The room echoed with Rumlow's laughter, as he held up the remote. "You don't _get_ to choose, Asset." To show that he was in charge, he hit the button.

Pain wracked the Asset's body as he tried to get away, just now noticing that he was chained. He pulled, but in his weakened state, he couldn't get free. Clutching his head, he bit out, "I am _not_ the Asset. My _name_ is James Barnes."

"We'll see about that." Tired of playing games, Rumlow went to the table for a bottle of water. "There's nothing out there for you, _Asset_. You've only been pretending to be human all this time. You and Romanoff have been playing house, but does she know you're not a real boy, Pinocchio?"

~~O~~

James ran his fingers over where the chains were attached to the vest he'd been strapped into, unable to find the release. His captor had said his name was Rumlow, but James wouldn't give him the satisfaction of using it. He ignored the other man's taunting until he mentioned Natasha, and his resolve hardened. "Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557421."

Rumlow laughed. "You're the _Asset_. That's all you'll ever be."

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557421."

One scarred hand toyed with a devise that looked like a miniature remote. Rumlow pressed the button, and pain like James had never known burned its way through his brain. He screamed and clutched his head with both hands, digging the fingers into his hair and scalp as he fell to his knees. The pain stopped abruptly, leaving James panting. Sweat rolled down his face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt. He glared at Rumlow, daring him to do it again.

Rumlow took great delight in inflicting pain on his prisoner. When James got free, he would gladly punch him repeatedly in the face.

Again, Rumlow crouched in front of him, grinning and pressing the button.

What little food he had in his stomach threatened to return, and James swallowed hard to prevent it. "Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 325- _Aaaaahh!_ " If this kept up, James wouldn't be able to stay conscious.

"When you're retrained to do HYDRA's biding, I'm going after your girlfriend and her SHIELD mates. They'll die one by one, slowly and painfully, and it will be _your_ fault. Might even have a bit of fun with the girlfriend before I kill her."

"Leave her alone!" James shouted as he lunged at Rumlow, intent on ripping his throat out though he'd told Natasha there would be no more killing. Rumlow hit the button and held it down. Spots exploded behind James' eyes. Screaming, he clutched at his head. His legs gave out, and he fell to his hands and knees. There was a short respite then the pain came again. His arms refused to hold him and he collapsed onto his side, curling into a protective ball that did little to alleviate the torment. Through the haze blurring his vision, James watched as one of Rumlow's men edged into the room.

"Check him out. Wouldn't want our ace in the hole to expire before he performs his duties."

"Yes, sir." The man set his weapons on the worktable and removed a thick vest, setting it out of the way. He picked up the case and slowly approached James, hunkering down next to him, speaking softly. "I'm going to have a look at you."

James blinked at him, but didn't respond, and the man didn't seem to expect it. He pushed James onto his back, turning him until he was sitting propped against the wall, helpless to resist as he made the examination. James squeezed his eyes shut and turned away when the man shined a light in his eyes. His chin was held in a strong grip, forcing James to face him. "You'll be fine."

The man removed a large bottle from his bag and pressed it into James' hand. "Drink this."

James took a tentative sip. It tasted awful, but who knew when he would get fed again. In spite of the taste, he drank down the entire contents, which settled his roiling stomach. A few drops ran down his chin, and he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe it away. He looked the man in the eye, trying to read his thoughts. "Thank you."

The man looked at him strangely, then he went back to his work. Like Rumlow, the man was treating him like an object, a tool that had to be kept lubricated in order to work properly. The empty bottle was taken away and another replaced it, this one filled with a clear liquid. Without being told, he drank it all in one go. Water! He was so thirsty, it tasted glorious. It also took away some of the lingering aftertaste of the other, for which he was grateful. He wanted to ask for another, but was curious as to why the medic was really brought in to examine him.

Next, the man took out a scanning device, passing it over his left arm. The results must have been satisfactory because he nodded to himself. He then used it to scan James' forehead. The device beeped, he took notice of the information shown on the screen, and shut it off.

James had to think this through. His prosthesis was a machine of sorts, taking the place of his left arm, giving him exceptional strength and stamina in combat. But why scan his forehead? Had something been implanted? Was that why he felt as if his head was being burned from the inside out each time Rumlow used the remote?

There was a sudden pressure on the side of his neck, followed by a hiss, and soon, the room was spinning. Before James could do more than turn his head, he passed out.

~~O~~

The medic picked up his bag and moved away from the Asset, giving him a long thoughtful stare. He'd been told that the Asset had been wiped of his identity and all emotion. But just now, when he was given the nutritional liquid and water, the Asset had made firm eye contact, and had even thanked him. If what Rumlow said was true, why would the Asset behave this way?

He returned to the Asset, straightening his body and limbs so he would be comfortable while he slept. Not for the first time, the man wondered if he'd chosen the correct side in this fight.

 **Two Days Later**

The Asset awoke slowly, blinking in the dim lighting. Rumlow planted a hand on his shoulder, pushing him upright and slapping his cheek to bring him around. The Asset turned away, bringing one knee up and the other leg bent.

Satisfied that the Asset was aware enough to understand, Rumlow assumed a cocky stance, the remote held in his right hand. "Time to start again. We'll keep doing this until you comply or you die. It's up to you." He dialed the power down as he paced in front of the creature cowering in front of him. "You are the Asset."

His head came up slowly, defiance in his glassy eyes. "No!"

Rumlow hit the remote, sending just enough electricity through the Asset's body to cause pain without knocking him out.

" _Aaaahhh!_ " His eyes squeezed shut and his hand pressed against his forehead. "Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557421… _Aaaaahhhhh!_ "

Again and again, Rumlow said the same thing. "You are the _Asset_." And each time he received a negative response or name, rank and serial number, he would hit him again. Hurt someone often enough, and soon they would do anything to stop the pain. He was counting on it. "You are the Asset."

~~O~~

His chest heaved, and the sweat rolled off of him, soaking his clothes and filling the air with the stench of fear. James squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the next onslaught of searing pain. " _Aaaahhh!_ "

It was glaringly obvious that Rumlow would continue torturing him until he gave up, so that's what he would do. The trick he learned from Natasha was to make a lie appear to be the truth. That meant making it a hard-won victory for his captor, and turning the tide before the pain caused his heart to stop.

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557421."

He let Rumlow hit him repeatedly for what seemed like hours. Then, he felt his heart skip several beats, and the air in his lungs refuse to be expelled. James took one more hit, though he may have waited too long because his consciousness wavered, and there was a roaring in his ears. Then… nothing.

~~O~~

Forcing herself to stand still when she really wanted to pace, Natasha listened to Steve, Hill and Sam working out a strategy to rescue James from Rumlow and his goons. Clint prowled the perimeter like a caged lion used to running free.

Hill held the tablet so everyone could see. "I've hacked into the traffic and security cams in the area. Rumlow and his men don't appear on any of them within the specified time period, except this one."

The grainy black and white video showed a group of men carrying another from the warehouse where Natasha and James were ambushed to an SUV with blacked out windows. The video shifted to another view as the same SUV arrived in front of an old machine shop. The men dragged James out and took him inside.

Their stronghold was heavily guarded; at least twenty men and women surrounded the abandoned machine shop and patrolled the roof. The Avengers would make short work of them, but they didn't have that option at the moment. This operation had to stay as low-key as possible, partly to prevent civilian casualties, and to avoid negative press.

Natasha crossed her arms, scowling at the video. "We need to do this before they move him."

Steve gave her a sympathetic glance. "We go in there guns blazing, Rumlow or one of his men could take it into their heads to cut their losses and kill Bucky." He shifted his feet, wanting to pace, forcing himself to stand still. "I worked with Rumlow for over a year. They won't go down easy. We need a plan."

~~O~~

"S***! Now I have to wait for him to wake up," Rumlow said aloud to the empty room. He tossed the remote on the sagging workbench and was thinking of leaving the Asset alone while he went for a beer. That would give him time to contemplate his demise, if he continued with the delusion that he was human, that he could have a real life with a woman and friends.

He heard a commotion and gunfire outside, and one of his men came into the room. "It's the Avengers, sir. They're demanding we turn over the Asset and surrender."

"HYDRA doesn't surrender. Now get out there and hold them off."

As soon as the other man had gone, Rumlow returned to the Asset. He lifted his head, reassuring himself that he was still out. The only movement came from his chest as he breathed. Standing, he moved to a cabinet in the corner, opening it to reveal a secret door. He exchanged the Berretta for a device that scraped against the holster as he pulled it out. He aimed it at the Asset. "If you're not working for HYDRA, SHIELD can't have you either, Asset."

Rumlow activated the device, and the metal arm twitched, the fingers curling into a fist. The Asset took a deep breath, and let it out. Rumlow exited the room, and ran toward the end of the hall, crashing through window. He hit the ground, rolled and came to his feet running, barely distancing himself from the effects of the ICER grenade that took out many of his men.

He didn't believe in running from a fight, but the others were expendable. _He_ was not. In this instance, discretion was the better part of valor. Ward had aspirations of becoming the head of HYDRA, and Rumlow was determined to be at his side, one of his most trusted advisors. To do so, he had to live. He ran down back alleys and side streets until he was lost to the enemy.

Moments later, Natasha and Sam burst into the room.

~~O~~

More pain, different than before. James felt a change deep inside, as if someone else's thoughts were rewriting his. He lay on the floor, unable to move. Something was happening with his metal arm. It was as if he no longer had control over its functions. He heard whispering, the voice becoming clearer by the moment.

 _The timetable has moved. Our window is limited. Two targets, level six. They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours._

The intervening time contorted, and he found himself in a room, shirtless, and the voice was there again.

 _Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves._

The next few words were unintelligible. Then the man with white hair turned away as if James were nothing.

 _Wipe him and start over._

Yes, this new pain felt like that. Fire burning its way through his brain, removing everyone and everything but the mission. Always the mission. In the back of his mind, he heard another voice. _Same thing only different, son._

His mind and body wanted to shut down. He'd been fighting long enough. It was time to sleep.

~~O~~

Clint squatted beside Rogers, waiting for the next order. "Have to thank FitzSimmons for the ICER grenade."

"Got any spares?"

Clint dropped a grenade into Steve's hand. "That's the last prototype. This was the first test under combat conditions."

Rogers touched his ear, listening to chatter. To Clint, he said, "They're ready when we are."

Clint grinned. "Call it, Cap."

Steve tapped his headset. "On my mark." He paused long enough for his people to prepare. "Mark."

Rogers surged from behind the dumpster, his weapon out, eyes scanning the area. Clint followed, looking for stragglers. There were a few, and Rogers took them out with the shield, real casual like.

Clint tapped his headset. "Who has eyes on Rumlow? He's the one we want."

One by one, the others looked over the bodies on the floor, delivering a negative sighting of the ex-SHIELD agent. Sam's voice came last. " _Not seeing that SOB's smelly carcass anywhere, Steve. Must've split before the raid. Should've known he'd cut and run to save his worthless hide._ "

" _Cap,_ " Natasha's voice interrupted, " _we need you inside. Down the first corridor to the end, right at the T junction and through the door marked 'Machine shop'_."

"On my way."

~~O~~

Taking a tentative step forward, Natasha watched James hunkered down against the wall. He wore a vest with chains attached to metal plates on the wall that were obviously new. The building was old and crumbling. How could it have held up to his strength while they were searching for him? Then she remembered Clint telling her James had been drugged. She verified that she had the injector just in case she had to do the same.

She moved forward another step. "James?"

Natasha tapped her headset. "Cap, we need you inside. Down the first corridor to the end, right at the T junction and through the door marked 'Machine shop'."

" _On my way_."

It wasn't long before they heard running footsteps and Steve joined them, the shield in his left hand. "Was he like this with you, Natasha?"

"No. This is…"

Clint came to her side holding out a small black remote. "Found this. Looks like the remote for a sort of shock collar. There would be a chip implanted that this remote activates. Press it, and it sends an electric shock that… well, you get the idea."

Natasha snatched the device from Clint, dropped it on the floor and brought her heel down, crushing it.

"When we find Rumlow, Nat," Clint told her. "You get first crack at him."

Clint always knew what to say to make her feel better. Natasha waved Steve and Clint to the far side of the room, keeping her voice low. "We need to move him before Rumlow and his men come back."

"Where? And how will we get him there?"

She held up the injector. "The same way Rumlow got him here. We sedate him." James continued to jerk at his chains without taking his eyes off Steve.

Steve handed the shield to Clint and slowly approached James. "Bucky? It's Steve."

His friend's head came up. He surged to his feet, growling as he lunged forward, coming up short at the end of the chains. Steve jumped back out of reach, shock and disappointment in his eyes when James spoke, his tone flat and emotionless. But there was hope, because this time, he spoke English. "Not a target. Do not engage unless threatened."

Natasha nudged Steve, giving him a sad smile. She touched the widow's bites at the wrists to shut them off as she slowly walked toward James. The moment his eyes found her, he stopped pulling at his bonds, watching as she crossed the room. She came to a stop just out of arms reach, speaking to him in Russian. "James, _malenkii_. It's Natasha."

He looked confused, taking a step back and putting a hand to his forehead. Then the hand came down and his back straightened, his blue eyes empty of emotion. Lifting her hand slowly, Natasha reached out to touch his cheek to brush away the hair sticking to his face. "You _do_ remember me."

He seemed to be searching within, his eyes roaming over her features. Then his mouth set in a hard line. "Natasha Romanoff. Level six target. Mission: death confirmation in ten hours."

With a sigh, Natasha eased the injector from the back waistband of her pants. "Sorry to have to do this, _malenkii_."

The hand holding the injector shot out, aiming for his neck. Just when it seemed she'd reach her goal, his left hand caught her by the wrist. It hurt, but not as bad as it should have. With his strength, he could've easily crushed the bones. He may have reverted to his former self, but some small part of him still remembered her. "What is the location of Jasper Sitwell?"

She tugged, trying to free herself from his grip. "Why?"

"Jasper Sitwell is a level six target. Mission: death confirmation in ten hours."

Natasha switched the injector to her other hand, ducked under the chain, and came up behind him so quickly, he wasn't able to stop her. She pressed the injector into the back of his neck, hearing the _psht_ that confirmed injection. Just as quick, he spun around, his hands grabbing for her as she danced out of reach. He was jerked to a stop at the end of the chains, straining to be free. The plates in the wall began to pull loose sending even more dust into the air.

Clint and Steve came to stand with her, watching as James' struggles lost their power and he fell to his knees. In his current state, it was unlikely she'd be hurt. Natasha went down on one knee next to him. "James?"

His head came up, and he really seemed to see her as _her_ for the first time since she arrived. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. "N-Natasha?" Supporting himself with his left hand, his right hand reached for her. A moment later, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

 **The Next Morning**

Following through with her promise to stay with him, Natasha had spent the night in the room with James. She didn't get much sleep due to the fact that he metabolized the sedation so quickly, he had to be injected every couple of hours until they figured out where to take him.

Steve, Clint and Sam had done what they thought best for all. And though she didn't agree with their methods, she didn't have another solution. While James was unconscious, they moved him to the industrial vise, and clamped his left arm in it. The only way he could free himself was to remove the arm, and they counted on the survival instinct they had seen demonstrated during their fight on the bridge, in the streets of D.C. and on the helicarrier.

James awakened an hour ago, looking around as if he were lost. She'd set a bottle of water and a sandwich within easy reach. He consumed both without acknowledging her efforts or presence, behaving as if the food had just appeared out of thin air. She tried talking to him without success.

When he finished eating, James dropped the empty bottle and plate on the floor. His eyes seemed unfocused, as if he were in a world of his own that didn't intersect with this one. He tried to stand, but couldn't, just now noticing that his left arm was being held fast.

Steve and Sam came into the room from different directions, watching James worry at the edge of the vise where it gripped his arm, as if it were merely a curiosity. Then he noticed Steve, and a glimmer of recognition shone in his eyes. He opened and closed his mouth, uncertain what to say, or so it appeared.

Steve and Sam kept out of the way speaking quietly together while her eyes never left James. Sam crossed his arms. "This would've been a lot easier a week ago. Should've had this meet at the safe house."

"What's done is done. If we call Tony…" Considering the rumblings in D.C., and the falling out they had recently over the Inhuman Registration Accords, Natasha knew her friend had to be desperate if he was suggesting they call Stark.

Sam shook his head. "He won't believe us."

"Even if he did…"

"Who knows if the Accords will let him help?"

Resigned, Steve stated the obvious. "We're on our own."

Making an offhand shrug, Sam said, "Maybe not. I know a guy."

Steve had more questions, as did Natasha. She stepped out of the shadows. "Call him."

Looking uncomfortable, Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "That's the problem. I don't know how to get in touch with him. I only know his first name, AKA, and the city where he lives."

The former VA counselor had both their attention, Steve asking, "Who is he? How do you know he can be trusted?"

"What alias? I have contacts who can track him," Natasha interrupted, overriding Steve's questions.

"Called himself Ant-Man."

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 47

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 47**

Sam looked out over the sea of people frolicking in the park, both elbows on the back of the bench and one leg crossed over the other. It was the same park where he'd begun searching for the elusive Ant-Man, Scott No Last Name. Sam didn't move when another man took a seat at the opposite end.

"Heard you were looking for me."

One finger eased the sunglasses down so Sam could look over them at his companion. "You're a difficult man to find, Scott."

His right shoulder lifted and dropped. "That's the way it is in the superhero business, what with secret identities, and hidden lairs. Though the incident in D.C. took that away from the Avengers and SHIELD."

"Well, we have some new players who weren't in SHIELD's database when it was dumped onto the Internet." The sunglasses were replaced, and Sam got to his feet. Scott joined him, and the two men taking a meandering stroll through the busy park. Just two pals out for walk. They stopped at a food cart, and Sam bought them each a bottle of ice tea. "I need your help."

Scott stopped with the bottle halfway to his mouth, lowering it instead of taking a drink. "Why would the Avengers need _my_ help?"

Sam nodded slowly. "My friends and I have a job that requires a specialized skill set."

"How much does it pay?" Chuckling, Sam pointed a finger at Scott who scowled good-naturedly. "It's customary for consultants to receive payment for services rendered."

"In this case, your fee will be in the form of job satisfaction." He took a drink of his tea and recapped the bottle. "As a bonus, you'll be doing Captain America a huge favor. So, you in?"

Leaning against a tree, Scott thought over Sam's proposal. "What the hell? I'm not doing anything for the next couple of days."

Reaching into his pocket, Sam took out a card and passed it to Scott. "Meet me at this address in one hour."

The shorter man took the card, and read the writing on the back. "I'll be there."

As he started away, Sam called out, "And Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring the suit."

 **Abandoned Machine Shop**

Taking a few moments to wonder why Captain America would be hiding in an abandoned building, Scott sighed and followed Sam inside. The place was dirty and disgusting, but he'd been in worse places. Jail, for one. At least here, he could leave whenever he wanted.

"When you said you needed my help, you didn't say anything about New York, Sam."

"Would you have come? "

Scott scoffed. "Heck, yeah. Couldn't pass up a chance to work with the Avengers."

They stopped in front of a locked door. Sam knocked in a specific pattern, and it was opened by Captain America himself. He motioned them inside, and Scott heard it lock behind them. Two others were lurking in the shadows. They moved into the light, their expressions wary and dangerous at the same time.

What captured his attention more than anything was the man sitting hunched over with his arm in a vise. His hair hung over his face, breathing steady. A closer look brought his attention to the fact that this man had a metal arm.

"Steve, this is the guy I was telling you about. Scott, uh…"

Holding out his hand, Scott nodded a greeting, "Lang, AKA Ant-Man."

They shook hands. "Steve Rogers. Thanks for coming." Scott had to give Steve props for not snickering at the embarrassing handle Hank had given himself and now Scott.

"No problem." Sam drew his attention to the others.

"Natasha Romanoff. Clint Barton."

The woman was petite, with red hair and a scowl. The man was shorter than him, and dark-haired, also scowling. He recognized both, of course. Neither offered to shake, leaving Scott hanging with his hand out. He turned it into a short wave, choosing to ignore the air of distrust coming from them. Hitching his bag higher on his shoulder, Sam indicated the last occupant. "James Barnes. He's the reason you're here."

"Why me? And isn't he that guy from D.C.?"

Steve ignored the question, and moved a step closer. "Sam tells me you have an unusual ability."

Scott shrugged, indicating the bag he left in a corner out of the way. "It's all in the suit."

"You have degrees in computer technology, electrical and mechanical engineering, correct?"

"Guilty as charged, Captain Rogers."

The super-soldier finally smiled. "It's Steve." He gestured, and another woman moved out of the darkest shadows, startling Scott because he hadn't sensed she was there. The woman, dark-haired, slim and seemingly less dangerous than the others, handed him a tablet with a detailed description and photos of a microchip. "What you're looking at is a chip that was placed in Bucky's brain. There are no surgical scars on his scalp, meaning it had to be implanted through the nose."

Clamping his teeth together to keep from gaping opened mouthed at the group as a whole, Scott ventured, "Let me get this straight. You want me to put on the suit, get small, and crawl up that guy's," he aimed his chin at the man restrained by the vise, "nose to remove a microchip?"

Sam and Steve exchanged an amused glance, speaking together, "Yeah."

Wondering what he'd gotten himself into, Scott crossed his arms and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Where does the computer know-how come in?"

The dark haired woman came to stand next to him. She reached over to scroll the screen. "We need someone who can reprogram the arm so the bad guys can't take control again."

"By bad guys you mean…"

"HYDRA. I've included a short history for you to read before we get started. Any questions?"

It was on the tip of Scott's tongue to pass. Then, he met each set of eyes one by one, all showing expectation and hope, especially Steve and Natasha, as if they had the most to lose. _Shut the front door!_ He couldn't do it. "It's possible that reprogramming the arm will eliminate the need for the nose climb. Where are the specs for the arm, uh…"

"Hill. Maria." She scrolled to the correct screen and handed the tablet back.

"Well, Hill, Maria," Scott picked up his bag, reading the screen as he walked toward the door he came in through, "is there someplace I can suit up?"

She motioned for him to follow her down the dark hallway to the bathroom. "If you need anything, let us know."

"Will do." She passed him flashlight, and he watched her walk away. Steve stepped out as she reached the doorway to the room with the vise. From their attitude, he could tell they were a couple. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. Putting the seat down on the toilet, he sat down to read the history of the Winter Soldier and specs on the arm. The programming was complicated, almost beyond his level of expertise. As long as he had access to the Internet so he could IM Dr. Pym, he could do this.

Scott propped the tablet against the mirror so he could read while he stripped out of his clothes. To keep the suit from chafing, Dr. Pym had created an ultra-thin body suit to be worn under it. So much better than going home at night with rashes in places that never see the sun.

Before long, Scott became fascinated by the sophistication of the structure and design, and how it interfaced with the brain, allowing it to function with the efficiency of the limb it had replaced. Despite the complexity, it would soon be due for an upgrade. Someone like Tony Stark could build a replacement with ease. Unfortunately, doing so was way over and above Scott's current level of knowledge. Iron Man was an Avenger. Why hadn't Steve and the others gone to him for help instead of a nobody mechanical and electrical engineer who just got out of jail a few months ago?

He fastened the front of the suit, stuffed his clothes in the bag, grabbed the tablet and flashlight, and made his way back to the shop. They were talking in low voices that stopped when he entered the room. The feeling he got wasn't one of having interrupted a private conversation, but more that they were anxious to begin so it would all be over.

Scott removed the gloves and helmet from the bag, and set it in the corner again. The man introduced as Clint Barton handed him a headset. "Does the helmet have video?"

"It has a HUD, and I can record. As long as I can hear you, I'm good to go." He stuck the headset in his left ear, put the helmet on leaving the faceplate open, and grinned. "Let's do this."

Steve went to the sagging workbench and came back to stand in front of Barnes. Until that moment, he'd shown little interest in what was going on around him. His right hand pried at the vise in an attempt to free himself, his motions and the glaze of disinterest in his eyes as they searched for a way out gave him a somewhat pathetic appearance. Add that to his long, unkempt hair, and dirty clothes, and the man looked the way Scott imagined someone would if they'd been raised by wolves: almost feral.

The closer Steve got to Barnes, the more agitated he became. Steve stopped and crouched in front of him, an auto injector in his right hand. "Sorry, Buck, but we have to sedate you."

Barnes shook his head. "No."

Natasha moved to Steve's side, going down on one knee. "Please, _malenkii_. We're trying to help."

Again, Barnes shook his head, and Scott could see he was on the verge of a major freak-out. No. He wasn't freaked. Barnes was desperate. And desperate people made bad choices. Whatever had been done to him couldn't have been pretty, or neat or have involved kindness.

Natasha nodded at Steve. He exhaled loudly, but did as she asked and moved back to stand next to Hill. The redhead reached out to take hold of Barnes' hand, and he let her. Barnes watched her face as she moved closer. She slowly brought her free hand up. At first, he shrank from her touch, but Natasha was patient, and eventually, she was able to brush the hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. She whispered soothingly to him in Russian as Steve moved around behind him, ready to dart in and hit him with the injector.

Knowing that such an action would foster a feeling of betrayal in Barnes for their deceit, Scott caught Steve's eye and shook his head imperceptibly. Steve wasn't happy, but he backed off.

To Natasha, Scott commented, "He needs to be conscious for this. That way, he can tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

Steve returned to Hill's side. The movement was subtle, barely noticeable when she slipped her hand into his.

Natasha stood and moved out of the way, and Scott took her place. Taking care to stay out of reach, Scott also got down on one knee. "I'm Scott. We're gonna see if I can fix whatever's wrong." He smiled wryly. "Sounds like it might be a virus, or a dormant program that was activated by the bad guys." Holding his right hand up, he indicated the red button. "This shrinks me down to the size of an ant so I can get inside. What's the best way in?"

Turning to look at his arm, Barnes strained to reach the left hand. He removed the glove, and dropped it then grabbed hold of the middle finger, twisted and pulled. It came off with a click, and he handed it over.

Scott held the appendage up with a wry grin. "Rogers, your friend just gave me the finger." There were mild groans for his pun as Scott passed the finger to Natasha who'd stayed close. He stood. "I need you to hold as still as possible, Barnes. While I'm inside, if you feel anything that seems off, let me know." Barnes nodded. Scott let a smile come over his features, and just for a moment, he smiled back.

Scott closed the faceplate, held up his right hand so Barnes could see it, and pressed the button. Each time he shrunk himself, he felt a small thrill, as if going over the top of a rollercoaster. The room seemed to move away from him at an incredible speed. "Comm check."

" _Five by five, Scott_ ," was Sam's reply. " _How long will this take?_ "

"Won't know 'til I get inside. Just don't step on me again, Sam."

Sam snorted. " _I_ _tried_ _to step on you. If you recall, it didn't exactly go as planned_."

Steve's voice intruded. " _Save it. Let's get this done, Scott_."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Scott interjected sarcastically while adjusting the gloves. "What's that quote from Shakespeare?"

Natasha's voice came on. " _Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility…_ "

Barnes surprised them all by picking up the narrative, " _But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger…_ "

Scott ran toward the vise, jumping from place to place until he reached the hand with Steve's voice ringing in his ears, " _Henry the Fifth_ _Act 3, scene 1. King Henry V was referring to the army he led over the channel to invade France_."

The HUD came up, displaying the information Hill had downloaded into the suit. He climbed through the opening next to the middle finger, and snorted. "An apt analogy. I'm an army of one about to invade the circuitry of Barnes' arm, and hopefully stop what's causing him trouble." He stared around at the internal workings of the hand. It felt like being inside a giant metal warehouse filled with electronics instead of goods. He moved deeper, and the "walls" narrowed as he came to the wrist. Stepping over the seam into the arm itself, Scott looked out over the sea of circuitry. "Here's where the fun begins."

~~O~~

"… _Okay, I'm in the arm. Scanning… I see it. Heading for the origin of the whatever-it-is now. Stand by_."

"Standing by, Scott." Sam forced himself to stay still instead of pace. Steve didn't bother to try. On the other hand, Natasha was sitting next to Barnes holding his hand. From the way Steve was watching them, he'd come to the same conclusion as Sam. More was going on than just two people emotionally supporting each other through the hard times. Barton and Hill saw it too, though Sam thought it best not to make a big deal of it at this point. Solve the current problem before worrying about the next one.

Through the headsets, they heard the steady rhythm of Scott breathing, and occasionally muttering under his breath. Sam found an empty crate, turned it on one end and sat down. Elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands together.

" _I'm there… Doesn't look too bad… Doing another scan…_ " They listened to the sound of Scott breathing, and the occasional beep from his on-board computer. " _Still scanning… I need to use a lifeline…_ " Taps and clicks followed his directive. A few tense moments later, he was back. " _Well, look at this… According to Dr. Pym and Mr. IPad, if we remove two specific chips, it will render the one in the brain dormant. No need for me to go spelunking up his… Uh-oh_."

The tension in the room, already high, increased to a new level. Steve took an involuntary step forward. "Uh-oh?"

Hill and Sam moved to stand on either side of Steve. Slanting his eyes to his friend and away Sam touched his headset. "Scott, why did you say 'uh-oh'?" To the room, he muttered, "I hate it when people say uh-oh."

" _Give me a minute… … Oh, boy. This is_ _not_ _good_ …"

"What's not good?" Steve asked, concern clouding his eyes. Natasha squeezed Barnes' hand a little tighter. "Talk to us, Scott."

" _It's better to show than tell 'cause you're going to_ _flip_ _, and I wanna to be there to see it._ " They heard grunting and swearing, followed by a cry of triumph. It happened a second time as Barton came to join them. They all held their breath for a moment, listening to Scott grunt and swear, letting it out in a rush at the man's triumphant, " _Got 'em. On my way out_."

Hill shone a flashlight on the opening, and soon they saw a tiny figure emerge. He leapt to the floor, and enlarged. "All done." He looked over at Barnes and nodded, adding a grin. "You're good to go, pal."

Sam tapped him on the shoulder. "Dude. The uh-oh?"

Scott held out his hand. Nestled in the palm of his right glove were two of the smallest computer chips Sam had ever seen. Scott tapped the screen of the tablet to send the video he recorded to Hill.

Confused, Hill pointed out, "Microchips. His arm is essentially a sophisticated computer that interfaces with his neural network through a series of…"

"Maria," Steve admonished her with a small grin. Her response, had it been said aloud, would've peeled what was left of the paint from the walls.

The chips were passed to Maria, and she held one between two fingers. Barton took the other and held it up to the light. "There's a logo on it, but it's so small, even _I_ can't read it."

Annoyed at his friend for the dramatic pause, Sam poked him again. "Don't make me hurt you, Scott."

The former convict met each set of eyes, holding Natasha's, Steve's, and Barnes' a fraction longer. "It's the Stark Industries logo. The chips, and most of the components of the arm, at least those I inspected, were made by Iron Man's company. I sent you a video for confirmation."

As though they were alone, Sam lowered his voice to say to Steve and Hill, "Think Tony knows?"

Steve shrugged. "Probably not. With Pepper in charge of the day-to-day business, Tony spends most of his time in the labs. And he's still mourning the loss of Banner."

Natasha's small hand reached between them to take one of the chips and hold it up to the light. "We have to tell him, Steve."

"Let's curb that scenario for now. How is he?" Steve pointed his chin at Barnes whose head hung down, his chest expanding and contracting as he breathed deeply.

One of Natasha's shoulders went up and down. "Ask him yourself."

~~O~~

He couldn't explain how, but James felt the difference in his arm and inside his head. He could feel it all over, as if walls were coming down, crumbling into dust. The chip they said was in his brain had to be part of what had been stopping him from fully accessing his memories. Once Scott removed the ones inside his arm, everything changed.

The clouds that flitted here and there inside his head covering up key memories floated up and away. Now he could remember everything. It was exhilarating, this rushing flood of memories, and demoralizing at the same time. Along with the good came the bad. Each time he'd been taken out of cryofreeze and sent to take the life of someone deemed an enemy to HYDRA, the surgeries, the training, and the threats and punishment when he disobeyed, or tried to escape.

Steve moved over to stand in front of him. The look in his eyes said he was ready for anything. "Buck, do you remember me?"

Chuckling, James slowly brought his head up, meeting Steve's eyes with a wry grin. "You were born in Brooklyn. Your birthday is July 4th. Your middle name is Grant. You tried to enlist in the Army _five_ times. The last was at the Stark Expo the day before I shipped out. Your father's name was Joseph, your mother's name was Sarah, and you used to put newspapers in your shoes." He paused before delivering the final note. "When we were ten, I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island, and you threw up."

Clint didn't wait for Steve's approval to release the vise's grip enough for James to pull his arm out. He stood, curled his fingers into a fist, and swung the shoulder joint in a circle to reset it, thanking Clint with a nod that didn't go unnoticed by Steve. There might be hell to pay when Steve confronted one or both of them, because, even now, he couldn't explain why he'd stayed away from Steve, but had been okay with Clint after their initial meeting. He was Natasha's best friend. Perhaps that was it.

His friend came toward him, stopping a few feet away. A slow smile softened the scowl he'd been wearing, one eyebrow moving upward. "Jerk."

James responded as expected, gathering Steve in a tight hug. "Punk."

Taking a step back, his eyes automatically found Natasha's. Her expression didn't change, though he sensed her relief that Sam's idea had worked. Movement behind Natasha brought his attention to Clint, who nodded. Sam and Scott both looked relieved too. That only left Steve's girlfriend.

Steve placed a possessive hand on the small of the dark haired woman's back, gently moving her forward. "Maria, this is Bucky. Buck, Maria Hill. She's my…"

"I'm his girlfriend." The smirk she threw at him was mostly smile, and had a trace of affection.

James extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss. Hill."

"Likewise, Barnes. And call me Maria."

"Before HYDRA, only Steve called me Bucky." He glanced at the woman who'd given up so much to help him become himself again. "Natasha calls me James. Either will work."

Standing at parade rest, his hand went behind his back with the other one when what he really wanted to do with hold Natasha in his arms. She came to stand close to him, and for a moment, James thought she wanted the same thing. Then she opened her hand, and lying in her palm was his finger. He'd forgotten it had been removed. Instead of doing it himself, he silently asked Natasha to do it. She cupped his metal hand in her warm palm and snapped into place. He gave her a smile of thanks. Then they both noticed that the room had gotten quiet except for the faraway sounds of the city.

James dropped into parade rest again, his go-to stance for when he felt awkward or uncomfortable. "So what's next?"

From the looks on their faces, they hadn't thought that far ahead. If James had his way, and he would now that he wasn't constrained by HYDRA's programming, he and Natasha would spend some quality time together without the threat hanging over their heads. HYDRA was no better than the Nazis who spawned them. Now they could relax and work on some of those issues they talked about.

Steve crossed his arms and shifted his weight. It was something he did while thinking. Before he could say what was on his mind, alarms rang, shattering the moment. Steve and the others pulled out their phones. "Sonofa…"

To James, the tone of his friend's voice meant that s*** was about to get real. He'd learned the phrase from television and the movies he watched with Natasha. It was all about to hit the fan. "What is it?"

Natasha, Sam, Clint and Maria were all staring at their phones. Steve spoke over his shoulder, "Barton."

Clint climbed up to the windows and looked out. "I make at least thirty."

Sam growled in his throat. "That means we're surrounded."

Steve moved in front of him again. "You're a wanted man."

"I don't _do_ that anymore."

"Well, the people who think you do are coming right now. They're not planning on taking you alive. Doesn't matter if you give yourself up, or put up a fight. You won't make it to jail." Steve took the jacket and cap Sam handed him and passed them over. "You need to _leave_ , Buck."

James shrugged into the jacket and shoved the cap in a pocket. "What about all of you?"

For the first time, Maria addressed him directly. "This isn't our first rodeo, Barnes. We got it covered. Go."

"Um…" Scott reminded them of his presence, "…what about me?"

Clint exchanged a glance with Steve then grabbed Scott's bag and a black case. "No one gets left behind. You're with us, Lang. We know a way out."

Steve stepped forward urgently. "Go, Bucky. _Now_."

At the door, he looked over his shoulder at Natasha. After a moment's hesitation and another quick glance at Steve, James crossed the room, grabbed her around his waist and kissed her, gratified when her palms pressed against his cheeks, and she kissed him back. She held onto him briefly afterwards, whispering urgently in Russian. They shared one last glance, and he was gone, running the length of the building and crashing through the closed window.

He landed on slanted windows nearly thirty feet below, sliding down to the edge. Drawing back his left arm, he hit the glass with his fist making a hole big enough to weaken the structure around it. He fell through to the landing in a crouch. The pounding footsteps and voices of men and women in police and military uniforms reverberated through the stairwell, shaking the structure.

James waited until they were just reaching the floor below to vault over the railing, falling past startled faces gaping openmouthed from behind the clear faceplates of their helmets. He hit ground level, falling onto his side, leaving a man-sized dent in the tile, and was on his feet again faster than his pursuers could change directions.

He busted through the boarded up front door, taking the steps in a single bound, turning the corner into an alley. Up ahead was another building like the one he'd just left. He dived in through the grimy closed window, rolled to his feet, and climbed to the roof, taking the stairs three at a time.

Without stopping, he made a running jump, flying through the air to hit the roof of the building next door. Rolling to his feet, he did it again and again until there were no more buildings. Without hesitating, he jumped to the street three floors below, landing on one knee, his left arm supporting him. Hearing sirens and his pursuers coming, he took off running like the devil was chasing him.

Eventually, he came to a crowded square. Slowing to a walk, he stuck the cap on his head, shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled casually down the street until he came to a man standing beside an idling motorcycle, talking on his phone.

Behind him, James heard sirens screaming through the streets, and the thunderous sound of the police coming closer. He tapped him on the shoulder.

The guy looked up, annoyed at the interruption. "Yeah?"

"Sorry."

He looked at James with confusion. "For what?"

"This." James clocked the man in the jaw hard enough to knock him out, brought the heel of his boot down on the phone, and hopped on the motorcycle. He shoved the cap into a pocket, gunned the engine and roared down the street, weaving in and out of traffic at speeds that virtually guaranteed death for the average human, should he wipe out. But he'd been designed to survive. He'd likely be injured. Not badly enough to die, though he'd definitely be captured. And that meant his life would end before the next sunrise. _Not gonna happen_ , he vowed to himself. He had too much to live for now. Steve, and especially Natasha.

Taking a random path through the streets of New York, James heard the combined police and military closing in. He turned left and cut through the lower level of a parking garage. Slowing down, he used one foot to steady the motorcycle as he made a sharp turn up a set of stairs to a pedestrian walkway that passed over a busy highway and down the stairs on the other side. People screamed and swore at him as they dived out of the way.

Up ahead, James could see Forest Park. He turned onto one of the bike paths, honking the horn to warn people of his approach, and they hastily cleared a path for him. Soon, he veered off the asphalt into a large grove of trees that reminded him of the cabin in Vermont. But now wasn't the time to reminisce. Skidding to a stop, he shut down the engine and rolled the motorcycle into the bushes where it wouldn't be seen.

Shedding the jacket, he tied it around his waist, and chose the tallest and fullest tree he could find. He quickly climbed up as far as he could. A few minutes later, a double squad of mixed police and military slowly made their way through the trees nearly a hundred feet below. Several men broke off from the pack to search the bushes, easily finding the bike.

"Alpha Leader this is unit 2-5-5. We've got the bike. Target is now on foot. Tracks show he's headed toward Queens."

The radio squawked, and the voice of another man, one James recognized, came over the radio. _"Roger, 2-5-5. Have Epsilon and Kappa squads continue the search of the park. Take Delta and Sigma squads and pursue. Do not let the target escape. I want a confirmed kill by the end of the day._ "

"Roger, Alpha Leader."

The man issued orders like a general going into battle then he and his team fanned out, headed toward Queens as James had intended. He stayed in the tree for another hour, and in that time, most of the squad moved the search to another part of the park.

James climbed down, ran a hand through his hair to remove bits of bark, twigs and leaves, replaced the jacket and cap, and started walking. His plan was to cross over into Manhattan at the Upper East Side and head south to SoHo. From there, he would cross back into Brooklyn. Natasha had given him a time and place to meet, and he would be there no matter what.

~~O~~

Steve didn't bother questioning Natasha about the kiss. There would be time for it later. "Head on out. We'll meet at the Citadel in twenty-four hours. Maria, go with them."

For once, she didn't balk at his order. Clint hung back after Maria, Natasha and Scott had gone ahead. "What about you and Wilson?"

Huffing at the archer, Steve shoved his hands into his pockets. "We're good. _Go_." He waited until the metal door the next level down slammed, and turned to Sam.

"Don't mean to rain on your parade, Steve, but won't we be captured and interrogated by the very people we're trying _not_ to get captured and interrogated by?"

Steve held up a hand, a small object twice the size of the chips taken from Bucky's arm between thumb and forefinger, adding a half-smile for effect. "I have a plan."

~~O~~

Alpha Leader kicked the door open and burst into the room, his squad pouring in behind him to surround the two men in the middle of the room. They were sitting on upended crates with another between them on which they were playing Gin. An empty bottle of cheap wine lay on the floor.

The men calmly took in the twenty or so men and women pointing weapons at them. The taller of the two finished his play and set his remaining cards on the edge of the crate while the other man just stared at them without expression. He drew a card from the pile and added it to his hand. "Help you wi' sump'n', fellas?"

 **TBC**


	4. Chapter 48

**Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 48**

Alpha Leader took in the shabby clothing, dirty hair and unshaven faces of the two men, homeless squatters. Both had to be in their sixties, and hadn't bathed in weeks. In the dim corners of the far end of the room, Alpha could see two piles of jumbled clothing and tattered bedrolls.

"Have either of you seen any of these people?" His 2IC held up a tablet showing several photographs.

The tall man stretched, and picked up his cards when the other lay down a discard. "Ain't nobody but us been here…" he looked at the other man, "…What would you say, Zeke, five, six days?"

Zeke belched and nodded. "'Bout that, Buzz. Why you lookin' for 'em?"

All pretense of amiability vanished. "That's not important. If you see them, do _not_ approach. They're armed and extremely dangerous. Call 9-1-1 with the location." He clicked the radio attached to the left shoulder of his vest. "All units report."

Alpha received negative sighting responses from all teams except those at the park who were now in pursuit of the primary target. He swore under his breath, and clicked the radio again. "All units still at the machine shop report to the insertion point." At the door, he turned back. "I wouldn't stay here too much longer. This building is scheduled for demolition."

"Didn't see no sign," the taller man retorted.

"There will be, once I have a talk with my superiors."

The two homeless men nodded, the shorter one saying, "Thanks for the warnin', officer."

~~O~~

The men continued to play their game until they were certain the tactical team had left the area. Then both men reached down to pick up a pair of small discs. They touched the tops; their forms wavered and disappeared, leaving Steve and Sam sitting on the crates.

Sam shook his head. "Didn't think that would work."

Steve pocketed the discs and stood. "Another of Tony's inventions. Until today, I didn't see a need for it."

"Lucky you had it, or we'd be in the back of an armored transport to the gray-bar hotel."

" _Luck_ had nothing to do with it." Steve's guilty conscience reared its head, compelling him to confess, "I stole them."

Sam handed Steve his backpack then snagged his own, hooking it over one shoulder. "Captain America broke the law? Will wonders never cease."

They ran down the stairs side by side. Steve's guilt edged up another notch. "Believe it or not, this isn't the first time. A few months before…" he gestured at himself, "I sort of… started a bar fight. I was one of eleven who got arrested and booked at the local precinct. Judge let us off on our own recognizance, provided we promised to appear in court."

"Did you?"

"I met Dr. Erskine before my court date. Colonel Phillips had my record expunged by the time I left for basic." He let Sam digest the fact that he'd broken the law and had gotten away with it as they hit the ground floor. Sometimes, like now, Steve felt he should've done something to make restitution, even if it was to the bar owner's family. He considered tracking them down, but the incident had happened more than seventy years ago, and he doubted anyone remembered. Instead, he made a note to give money to charity in the man's name.

They stuck caps on their heads and put on sunglasses, keeping their heads down to make it more difficult for anyone to recognize them, or to be seen on security cameras. With the hi-tech equipment available to law enforcement, they might still be tracked, but they'd be long gone before anyone recognized them.

For once, Steve let Sam drive. Right now, he wanted to stare out the window and think about how he'd finally gotten his best friend back only to lose him again. And what did Natasha say to Bucky? Had she given him the address of the Citadel? They spoke Russian, and Steve only knew a few words, none of which had been in their whispered conversation. The term of endearment she used wasn't familiar either.

This led him back to the kiss, and what it meant. Steve doubted they'd been sleeping together all this time. The attitude they displayed indicated an emotional connection that may or may not have become physically intimate.

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

Sam slanted his eyes at Steve then back to the road. "What d'you suppose Barnes and Romanoff were doing all this time?"

"Just what she said. Why?"

Again, Sam glanced at him, this time with a much different expression. As if he thought Steve were naive or possibly delusional. "Two people who're just friends do _not_ kiss like that. They could've powered a small town for a _month_ with the heat they generated."

Considering what Sam said, along with his own observations, as well as what he knew about Natasha and Bucky's personalities, he came to the same conclusion as he had before. "Without evidence to the contrary, I have to go along with what Natasha's been reporting, what little there is. She's not the type to lead with her heart. I believe her motives are what she said they were. Someone who's been there trying to help another come to terms with his past, and get him through PTSD. She's not a professional therapist, though with her background, she could be. As a spy, she has to know what makes people tick, and play on those wants, desires, needs, or fears. She wouldn't have brought Bucky to New York if she didn't think he was ready. Their emotional attachment wasn't planned by either of them."

"I can see that. It's also not her fault that Rumlow nearly ruined a year's worth of her special style of therapy." Steve saw the moment that Sam realized his reply could have a double meaning. "You _know_ what I mean. I do _not_ think they've been burning the sheets together for the last year. That happened just recently."

~~O~~

Sam slowed down and stopped for the light. "And even if they were, it's none of our business. What I don't get is Barnes was on his own for weeks before he hooked up with Romanoff. What was he doing when he wasn't with the Rabbi? Was he hiding underground, literally or figuratively? Sleeping in the park at night, and walking the streets during the day? And what did Romanoff say to him?"

"Don't know enough Russian to say. She knew we'd be heading for the Citadel. Hopefully, she gave him the address, and he'll meet us there."

"And if he doesn't? What then?"

He watched Steve shrug and look out the window. "Bucky remembers who he is now, his life. All we can do is hope he'll show up, and work it out from there."

"How can you be so sure he remembers everything?"

The super-soldier chuckled. "Only a few people know about Coney Island. And most of them are long gone. I never told Natasha, so she couldn't have coached him."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Sam looked over at Steve. "Dude! Seriously? You _yakked_ after riding the Cyclone?"

Embarrassed, Steve nodded. "I was _ten_. Except for being frozen for seventy years, getting shot, stabbed, beaten to a pulp by aliens _and_ my best friend, and dropped hundreds of feet into the Potomac when the helicarrier blew up, I haven't been sick a day since I was given the serum."

Something in the rearview mirror caught Sam's eye. "Well, you're not going to like what's coming up. We picked up a tail. White sedan two cars back. Dropped in behind us about three minutes ago."

"Describe the driver."

One shoulder shrugged. "Visor's down and sun's glaring. Possibly two in the front and one in the back. Though taking the last three turns behind us could be a coincidence."

"You don't believe that any more than I do. Pull in there."

Sam signaled a left turn into the parking lot of the Henri, a small hotel attached to a mall. The men went into the Java Hut and out the door that opened into the mall. They left by a back door and came around the side of the building. At the corner, Steve peeked out. "Can't see. I'll find out what they want."

Sam stopped Steve with a hand on his arm. "What if they start shooting?"

"Not a problem."

"Oh, it's a problem, 'cause the guys who shoot at _you_ usually wind up shooting at _me_ too. And I don't have your super-fast healing powers or that fancy shield for protection."

Steve huffed. "Then wait here."

Holding in a scoff, Sam assured himself he still had his weapon before leading the way. "Not doing that either. This time, _I'm_ on _your_ left."

As they approached the white sedan that had been following them, Sam went to the driver's door while Steve took the passenger side. Sam knocked on the window, startling the occupants. "Why are you following us?"

 **The Henri Hotel and Shops**

 **Parking Lot**

At first glance, it looked like the women in the front seat of the sedan had parked to send texts or emails. When Sam rapped on the window, they both jumped. The one in the passenger seat dropped her phone, and hastily retrieved it, giving Steve a sheepish grin.

The women, in their mid-twenties, buzzed the windows down, both staring open mouthed from Steve to Sam. The driver, her dark hair cut to just below her ears, giggled. "You're Captain America, and the Falcon, aren't you?" She didn't wait for him to respond before slapping her friend on the shoulder. "I _told_ you it was them."

The passenger, brunette with lighter highlights, tentatively reached out to touch Steve's hand on the edge of the door. "OMG! _We_ are your biggest fans. Deanna said it was you in that car, but I didn't believe her, and now I'm actually talking to you."

Deanna held up her phone. "Could we get a pic with you? _Please?_ My sister won't believe it unless I have a pic. Shelby, take a pic of me and the Falcon. O-oh! I _so_ have to Tweet about this." She tapped furiously on her phone.

"We gotta roll, Cap."

Huffing silently, Steve took a step back. "That's flattering ladies, but my friend and I are on our way to a meeting we can't be late for." Steve crossed his arms, his lecturing pose. "From now on, be careful who you follow. Next time, it might not turn out so well."

He and Sam stepped out of the way as they drove off, watching until they were out of sight. Sam took the keys from his pocket and tossed them in the air. "They talked a good game, but they aren't Captain America and Falcon fangirls any more than Pierce was."

They headed for the car. "Fangirls?"

"Groupies."

"Yeah." Steve stared out the window. "So who do they work for?"

Sam shrugged and signaled a turn. "Cops? Military? Could be reporters who took a chance."

"Your participation in the HYDRA incident wasn't given to the press, nor was your AKA. We'll know who they are soon." The grin Steve flashed had just a touch of smugness about it. "I put a tracker on the car. When we get to the Citadel, we'll have one of the techs give us the, what do they call it? The straight skinny?"

Unable to stop himself, Sam laughed out loud for a moment then stopped. In all seriousness, he told Steve, "Don't _ever_ say that again. I mean it. Coming from you, it's just _wrong_."

The SUV had been out of their sight long enough for a tracker to be planted. Per protocol, Sam pulled into a parking garage, tossed the ticket on the dash, and drove up to the fourth level, one below the top. They got out, took the stairs down to the second sub-level, and walked to a non-descript sedan. Steve fished the keys from under the rear bumper, and got into the driver's seat, with Sam riding shotgun. He pulled into traffic, taking a roundabout path to the Citadel's secret location.

 **The Brownstone**

 **Brooklyn**

Here and there, small pools of light seeped into the room from the outside, providing just enough illumination that Natasha didn't need a flashlight to see her way around as she paced to the window. It also helped that she'd lived here for several weeks and knew the layout.

One finger moved the curtain just enough for her to see the street. Not that she expected James to stroll down the sidewalk and up to the front door. He would do the same as she'd done and gain access through the rear where she'd already disabled the security cameras the neighbors had installed to discourage burglars.

By tomorrow afternoon, Steve and the others would know that she and James were together again, and where they'd gone. Once James arrived, they would talk over where to go. Somewhere her friends wouldn't think to look for them. Natasha promised to keep James safe, to be there for him, and she would keep it.

She prowled the first floor, restless, and kicking herself for not giving James a phone so he could call. That would be remedied when he arrived. On the hall table sat two phones, burners that couldn't be tracked. She needed to be with James right now, but didn't want Clint to worry, so he was the only one to have the numbers in case she and James got separated again.

In the kitchen, Natasha took a glass from the cabinet, filled it from the tap and drank it down. A cold beer would've quenched her thirst better, but she didn't want to leave in case James showed up. Setting the glass in the sink, she returned to the living room to wait.

~~O~~

Easing the basement window open, James peered inside, satisfied that a trap hadn't been set for him in this place. Natasha wouldn't do such a thing, but others could've found out where they were meeting, forcing her to abandon their plans. In that case, she'd be somewhere nearby, and would've stopped him from entering the home.

He slipped through the narrow window then reached for the bags he brought with him. The stairs were straight ahead. At the bottom, he looked up to see the door ajar. Dim light from the windows on the first floor allowed him to see the way.

One careful step at a time, he climbed to the first floor. At the top, he slowly pushed the door wide enough to enter the kitchen. He put the bags on the counter and went in search of Natasha, finding her sleeping on the sofa. She had to be exhausted. It wasn't like her to leave herself vulnerable under these conditions.

Crossing the living room, James went down on one knee next to the sofa, watching Natasha sleep just like he'd done on numerous occasions during their exile. He'd done it after they spent the night together as well. When asleep, she looked sweet and innocent, like none of the bad things in the past had ever touched her, and never would. If he had his way, nothing bad would ever happen to either of them again. But the realities of life remained, no matter how much you wished it could be otherwise. He used one finger to remove a lock of hair from her cheek, resisting the urge to stroke his thumb over the gentle curve.

Getting to his feet, James explored their hideaway while waiting for Natasha to wake up. He examined the library, bathroom, and laundry room, and had one foot on the bottom step when he heard paper crinkling. Returning to the kitchen, he found Natasha peering into one of the bags he left on the counter. She set it aside as he drew near. "You're late, Barnes."

She let him gather her in his arms. He rested his cheek on top of her head, and held her close, whispering, "It won't happen again."

She tilted her head back. James took the opportunity to kiss her.

Pulling away slowly, he released her then grabbed the bags with one hand, and Natasha with the other, leading her back to the sofa. From one bag, he took out three burgers wrapped in foil, passing one to her and keeping the other two. The second bag held two bottles of beer wrapped in several layers of paper to prevent them knocking together. They twisted the tops off, touched the bottles together, and drank.

Natasha passed him a napkin, opened the foil on her burger, and took a huge bite.

"Why meet here?"

She chewed and swallowed then wiped her mouth before responding. "This is where we stayed while looking for you. Figured it would still be empty considering its history." He took a bite of his first burger, nodding for her to continue. "There was a triple murder here a couple years back. Drug traffickers. Not to mention the creepy gargoyles on the roof. Clint gave them names, and talked to them."

James swallowed, and picked up his beer. "I barely know him, and I believe it." Their nonsensical banter was a diversion from their situation. Still, they had to think about their next step. "Where do we go from here?"

One slender shoulder lifted. "We convince law enforcement you're not who or what they think you are. That you're a victim, not a villain."

"How do we do that?"

"Don't know. Not yet. I have an idea. Let me work on the details before I lay it out."

James balled up his trash and put it in the bag. Natasha did the same, and once that was done, they were left with nothing but time on their hands. "Are we staying here tonight?"

"We can. There's water, but no electricity or gas which means no hot water for the shower. The place is fully furnished so we have our choice of bedrooms." James looked at her with a cheeky grin, one eyebrow raised. Natasha pursed her lips, in annoyance, it seemed. "We talked about this, James. By 'we', I mean each of us has our own room."

 **The Citadel**

Steve and Sam stared at the computer screen on the wall, reading along with the computer tech.

"The sedan you bugged was abandoned by the docks. According to the police, it was wiped clean. No fingerprints, no DNA, nothing. It was a nice try though, Captain Rogers."

Nodding his thanks, Steve headed for the exit that would take them to the common area. "Would've been a better try if it worked."

"True," Sam agreed. "That much paranoia means we still don't know who they work for." The last word trailed off as a female agent entered the room from the opposite side. She gave them both a sunny smile, her eyes lingering on Sam an extra few seconds as she passed. Sam's gaze followed her until she was gone. "Who is _that_?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Steve saw her face as she turned the corner. "Lillian. Used to be in accounting. Got rid of the lip ring _and_ blue hair, I see."

"Got her number, by any chance?"

Steve snorted, and kept walking, using his tone to goad Sam. "Not _on_ me."

"Think she'd mind… Wait. What?"

Steve tossed a smirk over his shoulder as he closed the door in Sam's face.

~~O~~

Sitting on the side of the bed, Maria rubbed lotion on her legs while Steve changed into his pajamas. For some time, she'd been thinking about broaching a sensitive subject, but the moment never seemed right. There might never be a perfect time for it, so she just dived in. "I overheard you at the party telling Wilson you couldn't afford an apartment in Brooklyn."

"Sad, but true. Is there a reason you're bringing it up?"

She stretched her legs out, and leaned back on her hands. "Alone, neither of us could afford a decent place, but together…"

"You want _us_ to get an apartment? Together? You and me."

On side of Maria's mouth turned up in a smile. "Yeah. What d'you say Rogers?"

Maria hadn't expected Steve to hesitate even a fraction of a second. However, the pause between her question and his answer went on for way too long.

"Can I think about it?"

 _Huh?_

"What's to think about? _You_ love _me_. _I_ love _you_. It's the next logical step." Again, Steve didn't immediately respond. This time, he stared at her with his mouth open, stunned. "What's wrong? You've got the strangest look on your face."

Steve closed his mouth with a snap, and cleared his throat. "That's the first time you've ever said you loved me."

Now it was her turn to be stunned. Had she really never said the words out loud? "I, uh, I thought you knew."

Crossing his arms and grinning, Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall. "How? Every time I say 'I love you', you say, 'I know'."

Taken aback, Maria thought over the months since they'd become a couple, and realized he was right. "Oh."

He sat next to her on the bed, using a finger to move her hair out of the way so he could brush a soft kiss over her neck, and whisper, "Say it again."

The warmth of his breath made her shiver. "Mmm." He put a little space between them so he could look into her eyes, and she took the opportunity to frame his face with her palms, punctuating her words with tiny kisses on the left then the right corners of his mouth. "I… love… you."

With the final word, she claimed his lips.

 **The Brownstone**

 **Brooklyn**

It wasn't that Natasha didn't want to share a bed with James because she did. She just didn't trust herself not to cross the line, if they did share. The night she went to him in the shower, she'd finally admitted that being with James was something she wanted for a long time. Maybe even from the beginning. The photos she studied trying to get into his head had made her feel like a cliché, falling for someone only seen in photos or the movies. Hollywood had done that one to death. There was no reason she had to act it out in real life. Meeting him in person let her experience his charm first hand. Well, once they stopped trying to kill each other. It was put on hold until he became himself again, and now that he was who he was supposed to be, the feeling returned.

"You brought clothes?"

"Yours are in the green bag." Natasha nodded at the duffle bags on the table that had once held computer equipment. "Go get a shower, and chose a bedroom. I'll be up in a while."

James picked up the bag and climbed to the second floor. She listened to his footsteps walking the hallway, and going into the bathroom. The water came on, and went off within just a few minutes.

His footsteps moved down the hall, pausing at each bedroom until he made a choice. The door closed on the one where Hill had slept, leaving the one Natasha had used empty.

Taking out her phone, Natasha dialed a number from memory. It was answered on the third ring.

" _Hill._ "

"It's Romanoff. By now you know I won't be joining you at the Citadel. At least not right away."

A snort came over the line. " _Had it figured out before we left the machine shop. Took Steve a little longer. You're with Barnes, aren't you?_ "

Natasha paced as she talked. "He trusts me. I can't let him down."

" _So what do you want from_ _me_ _?_ "

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important." Hill huffed into the phone, and Natasha could feel the impatience behind it. "You have friends in high places, other than Stark."

Natasha sensed a shrug through the phone. " _Wouldn't exactly call them friends. What're you thinking?_ "

She sat on the sofa and crossed her knees. "We need someone who can call the big dogs off Barnes' trail. My contacts work underground. Would you speak to Pepper? As CEO of Stark Industries, she must have a few strings she can pull."

Steve's voice spoke in the background. Hill hit mute while they talked, then she was back. " _I have strings of my own. I'll make a call, and get back to you no later than 2200._ "

~~O~~

Lying in bed on top of the covers, James listened for Natasha to come upstairs. Before long, he heard her go into the bathroom. The water came on in the shower, but only for a short while. Apparently, she didn't like the cold water either.

He heard her go into the room next to his, and get into bed. The springs creaked as she tossed and turned. Then the door opened and her footsteps padded up and down the hall, opening and closing doors. He was about to go see what was wrong when she knocked. He opened the door and found Natasha dressed for bed in a t-shirt and long pants. She shivered while rubbing her palms up and down her biceps. "I need a blanket. There aren't any in the other rooms."

"There's just the one on the bed." James held out his hand. "Come on. We can share." Her eyes went from his face to the bed and back. "I promise be a perfect gentleman."

~~O~~

Natasha took his hand, letting him lead her to the bed. He got in and scooted to the far side, holding the covers up so she could slide in next to him, lying on her back. James tucked the sheet and blanket around her. Even with space between them, she could feel the heat from his body warming her, making her rethink their decision to hold off being intimate for the time being. Sex was off the table for now, but that didn't mean they couldn't spoon, or cuddle, or even do a little canoodling.

She rolled over to face James, smiling and touching him on the cheek. He laid his hand over hers, holding it close as he turned to press a kiss into the palm. She inhaled sharply when he lightly scraped his teeth over the soft flesh below the thumb.

Then, James smoothed his warm palm down the outside of her arm to the shoulder. But he didn't stop there. His hand moved over the shoulder blade to her spine and down her waist so he could bring her closer. Natasha curled her leg over his hip, slithered her arm along his ribs leaning in for a long, and very hot kiss. She moved back, and with a sigh of contentment, closed her eyes, and cuddled against his chest.

 **The Citadel**

"Who was on the phone?"

Maria held the phone in her hand, ignoring for the moment the fact that Steve was wearing nothing but a towel. "Romanoff. She's with Barnes. Won't say where- _again_ -but I can make a guess."

"By the time we get there, they'll have moved on."

She slid her feet into slippers. "I need to make a call." Her eyes made a leisurely trip down to Steve's feet and back to his eyes to find him grinning, and she returned it. "Don't start without me."

"I won't." He gathered her into a hug, and gave her a kiss on the temple. "Don't be long."

Out in the hall, Maria dialed a number from her contacts.

" _Hello?_ "

"Did I wake you?"

There was a grunt, and she pictured him settling into his favorite chair. " _No. Shouldn't_ _you_ _be asleep?_ "

Rolling her eyes, Maria made her way to the common area of the SHIELD base called the Citadel, and dropped into a chair that faced the main entrance. "Maybe," she conceded.

" _What can I do for you?_ "

That was just the opening she needed. "You still besties with the VP?"

A deep-throated chuckle came over the line. " _Of course. Why?_ "

"I need a favor. A huge one."

" _How huge?_ "

Mentally crossing her fingers, Maria told the truth, sort of. "The life of Steve's best friend is at stake."

" _Consider it done. Email me the particulars, and I'll call in the morning. Army is an early riser._ "

Stunned that it was so easy, she asked, "Don't you want to know…"

" _This is the first favor you've asked of me since college. Whatever it is, I'll get it done._ "

Relieved that Steve's friend would soon be off the Most Wanted list, Maria inquired, "How detailed do you want it?"

" _Whatever you want to share, Maria. It's up to you._ "

Getting to her feet, she headed back toward the computer room. "I'll get the info out to you tonight. And Dad?"

" _Yes?_ "

"Thanks."

" _You're welcome._ "

For a few tense moments, neither spoke nor did they hang up. Maria took the opportunity to make one more pitch. "I can still call my contacts about your diagnosis. They…"

" _And I appreciate the thought, honey. Unless it's privately funded, my involvement would take time and resources from someone who needs it more than I do_." She didn't respond because she couldn't. All her will power was being employed not to cry. That would be done later in the privacy of her quarters. " _I've lived a long and full life. It's time to turn the reins over to the next generation_."

"If you change your mind…"

" _I won't. If you and Steve would like to come for Christmas, let us know. Take care_."

"You too." Maria ended the call as she entered the computer room. Eli Harrington lounged in front of the main computer, his feet on the desk and a book on his chest. His hat was pulled down over his eyes, and he appeared to be asleep.

She slid into the chair farthest from Eli, booted up the computer, and accessed the anonymous server. Typing the info into an email took her less than five minutes. Not bad considering the detail involved. For some reason, she hesitated before hitting send. Much of the content was classified, including the fact that she worked for a highly specialized government agency that, more than a year later, was still in the process of rebuilding its reputation. Her father would also know that she had lied to his face during their recent visit. She debated with herself until a voice, slightly muffled, intruded.

" _Send_ the damn thing, Hill. We'll all breathe a little easier without this hanging over our heads."

Not honoring Eli's smarta$$ remark with a response, Maria hit send then shut down the computer and returned to the room she shared with Steve, such as it was. Someone, she didn't know who, had replaced the single with a double. She lifted the covers and slid into bed. Steve rolled over and gathered her close without waking.

Hopefully, this would all be over soon and she and Steve could start looking for a place. They were both tired of all this hiding, wanting nothing more than to be able to start their life together. He hadn't asked her to marry him… yet, which was odd. In a perfect world, Steve was the kind of man who married, had kids, and lived happily ever after, in spite of hardships.

But their lives were far from perfect, and perhaps that was the reason he hadn't proposed. Or was it because he hadn't asked her father for her hand? An old fashioned notion, but one that would be in keeping with his unique personality. Maria made a mental note to ask her dad the next time they talked. Strike that. He probably wouldn't confirm or deny, leaving her frustrated and surly. Steve wouldn't say anything until the time was right. For now, Maria's curiosity would have to go unsatisfied.

 **TBC**


	5. Chapter 49

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 49**

Robert Hill softly closed the door to the bedroom he shared with his wife, and quietly made his way downstairs to the library. The coffee pot had been set up the night before. All he need do is press start. While it brewed, Robert-he preferred Bob these days-snatched the landline handset from the desk and placed it on the table next to his favorite chair before taking a snack from the mini-refrigerator in the corner. Each day, Winnie and Sara made several enticing tidbits for him to eat before taking the medications that made him nauseous. He grabbed one at random with one hand, and a bottle of water with the other. Sitting heavily in the newly reupholstered recliner, Bob peeled the plastic wrap from the snack, opened the water, and took out the pill keeper Celia filled the night before.

He ate a few bites of the snack, swallowed his morning pills with the water, and immediately followed them with the rest of the snack. To give them a few minutes to settle, Bob poured coffee in a mug that Celia had given him for Christmas three years ago. It said, "Lawyers do it in their briefs", bringing an affectionate smile when he pictured Maria's face the first time she saw him use it. To say they'd surprised each other during their visit would be a minor understatement.

The laptop was already set up on a table next to the chair. Bob moved it around in front and sat down. While it powered up, he sipped the coffee and stared into the fire crackling in the fireplace. Manny had laid the fire the night before so that all Bob had to do was activate the automatic firestarter.

Accessing his home email account, Bob opened the one from Maria, quickly scanning the text. He was seldom surprised by anything, but the information contained in the email floored him. That Maria had been involved in the alien invasion over Manhattan and the unfortunate incident in D.C. was inconceivable, extraordinary, pride-inducing, and frightening at the same time. He briefly thought about adding something alcoholic to the coffee while taking a moment to wrap his head around the fact that his child was second in command of a government agency that specialized in protecting the entire world, and not a corporate headhunter. Already high, the pride in Maria swelled. He couldn't wait to share this with Celia.

Then, Bob's world came crashing down. In the body of the email, Maria had stated quite clearly that she considered their collaboration on the same level as signing a confidentiality agreement. Any breach of that agreement would land him in federal prison for what little remained of his life. And because he wanted to spend that time with his wife, daughter, and friends, Bob would only speak of it to one other person, Armando Salas-Herrada, the Vice President of the United States.

He checked the time. Armando started his run at precisely seven every morning, without fail, no matter where he was or what the weather was like. Snow was falling in Montana where he and his family spent the holidays. That meant he would be out on the road right about… now. Bob dialed the secured line that Armando was required to keep on him at all times.

" _What the hell, Bob! I'm running. Call back in an hour. Make it two so I can shower._ "

"No can do. This is more important than maintaining your sorry carcass." Bob grinned at the stream of invective that came over the line. " _Whoa_. You kiss your wife and kids with that mouth?"

" _I could make some smarta$$ quip about your mother, but I won't out of respect for her memory. What's so important you had to interrupt my routine?_ "

Sobering, Bob switched the phone to the other ear. "Maria's come home, Army."

The roar of a snowplow going by preceded his friend's reply. " _That's great, Bob. I'm happy for both of you_."

"Thanks. It's also why I'm calling. Maria works for something called SHIELD." There was an uncomfortably long pause, telling Bob more than words could say. "You _knew?_ All this time, you knew what my daughter was doing and didn't tell me?"

In the background, Bob heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow. " _It was need-to-know. But now that_ _you_ _know, what do you want?_ "

Bob understood. Armando hadn't been able to tell him anything about his daughter's job without the same risks that Bob now operated under. "What do you know about a man named James Buchanan Barnes?"

" _He's the subject of a massive inter-agency manhunt. Why?_ "

"He's also the best friend of Maria's fiancé, Steve Rogers."

Again, there was stunned silence. " _Your_ _daughter is engaged to_ _Captain America_ _?_ _That_ _Steve Rogers?_ "

Bob chuckled at his friend's dumbfounded tone. "Not officially, but yes. Back on subject. I'll lay it out the way I got it from Maria, and you tell me if it's doable."

Armando exhaled into the phone. " _Okay. Hit me._ "

With Maria's email in front of him as reference, Bob gave the Vice President everything, leaving out nothing. When he finished, he waited impatiently for his friend to digest the information, and make a decision.

He heard Armando pacing in the snow, and in the background, the squawk of the Secret Service detail's radios. " _I'll have to get approval from Louise, but it's just a formality. I am of the opinion that Rogers and the others should be hailed as heroes. Not hunted like wild animals, or labeled as vigilantes_." He made a sound of regret at the handling of the Barnes situation due to not having all the facts. " _She'll probably make seeing a psychologist requisite, but if he's willing, I see a pardon in his future_."

"She didn't come right out and say so, but I got the feeling that he's been seeing a therapist since after D.C. I'll have Maria forward a copy of the file. Think it'll make a difference?"

" _We'll find out. I'll get back to you before the end of the day_."

"Thanks. And give Madame President and Rene my regards."

" _Will do. Going back to my run now. With so much snow, my detail should be able to keep up today_."

Bob pressed the end key and set the phone aside. Armando had been a prosecutor and a defense attorney, as well as a staunch advocate for rehabilitation rather than continued incarceration of those who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had paid a debt to society as a result. A situation that described this Barnes person to a T.

He hit reply on the email, typed out a message, and sent it off to Maria. If she was anything like she was as a child, she would already be up, running, lifting weights, punching a bag, kicking the crap out of another black belt, whatever. Or she could be sleeping in. Steve influenced his daughter more than she thought or they would still not be speaking.

While they were visiting, Maria had stormed out after an argument, and had been gone for hours in the unexpected snowstorm. Bob had berated Steve for not going after her, to protect her. He'd been stunned speechless when Steve laughed, reminding Bob that, years of estrangement had left him with no idea of the woman his little girl had grown into. Bob and Steve had cleared the air that day, the young man telling him a few home truths about his only child. Until then, in his mind, she was still the young and eager college student who hadn't been home in fifteen years.

Looking back on her life from the day she was born, he had blamed her for Vanessa's death. With some embarrassment, Bob admitted to Steve, and eventually to Maria as well, that she had been right to cut off all contact with him.

Then, when the letter arrived, he realized what an idiot he'd been. Doing so had allowed him to put his wife's death in perspective so he could move on. His attempts at contacting Maria had been futile. That's why, when he heard she would be attending a fundraiser in San Francisco a decade ago, Bob had wangled an invitation, backed up with a sizable pledge to the cause.

 **Ten Years Ago**

 **Hotel** **Imprecedero**

 **San Francisco**

Robert Hill, senior partner at Hill, Bastian, Jones, and Krakowski, the most prestigious law firm in Chicago, presented his invitation at the door, and was ushered into the grand ballroom. Inside, he was immediately approached by a uniformed server carrying a silver tray. The young woman handed him a glass of champagne with a bland smile. He sipped the amber beverage as he circulated the room, keeping an eye out for the one person he'd traveled halfway across the country to see. Yet, when he found her, he hesitated.

They hadn't seen or spoken to each other for more than five years, and he wanted her to know that his life and way of thinking had drastically changed. Before she left, he'd been a bitter and angry man, often targeting the one person he should have been going to for comfort after the death of his wife. He'd blamed Maria when Vanessa had been the one to make the choice to give him a child, despite the risks involved.

The crowd swirled around her, parting so Bob could now see that she was in the company of a tall African-American man with an eye patch and a scowl that flirted with a smile as they talked with two men and a woman. All had unreadable expressions, bland smiles that gave away nothing of their thoughts.

The others walked away, leaving Maria and the tall man alone. They accepted glasses of champagne from a server, sipping while communicating thorough eye contact alone. The man pointed his chin and left her alone. She turned, preparing to take a drink, her forehead crinkling slightly when she spotted him over the rim of her glass.

She upended the glass, draining the contents. Another of the circulating servers took the glass and kept going. Bob saw her chest expand as she took a deep breath, lifted the hem of her gown, turned and walked away.

Disheartened, Bob automatically accepted one of the canapés from a tray held out by another of the servers, more for something to do than because he was hungry.

The friend who'd gotten him the last minute invite appeared. Bob was able to fake enjoyment and enthusiasm for the event as any good lawyer could, completely fooling the other man. They spoke for a while, shook hands and his friend went back to mingling and glad-handing.

Another glass of champagne came into his line of sight, slender fingers wrapped around the stem. Bob followed the arm covered in an elegant black material back to the source. Familiar blue eyes glared at him through long dark lashes. He took the glass and just held it, waiting for her to speak.

Bob took a moment to absorb her appearance. While not vastly different than the last time he'd seen her, she now projected an air of strength, confidence and overall composure, her emotions kept tightly restrained. She would be calm, level-headed, and in control during a crisis.

"What are you doing here, Dad?"

He waved the glass carelessly, diminishing the importance of his visit. "The same as you, Maria. I was invited." She dipped her chin, looking so much like her mother, he could hardly speak. He took another sip of the champagne to clear his throat. "And to see you, of course."

"Why now?"

Bob met her eyes, willing her to understand all the words he couldn't say, at least not in public. "Our circumstances have…"

"Circumstances? So now I'm just a 'circumstance'?" Her bark of laughter was anything but humorous. "You haven't changed one bit, so don't pretend otherwise."

Bob realized he needed to get on better footing with his daughter so he tried another tact. "Who's that man you're with? Isn't he a little old for you?"

Maria lifted the hem of her skirt with her free hand, her features hardening. "I'm an adult, _Robert_. You don't get to question my choices anymore. That's a privilege you gave up years ago."

With that parting shot, his daughter strode away, and was soon swallowed up by the crowd.

 **Present Day**

 **Chicago**

Aside from the charitable donation, and being introduced to some interesting people, the night had been a total bust as far as Maria had been concerned. And though Bob had received notification of her phone number and address changes over the years, she hadn't answered one of his letters, calls, emails or texts until recently.

The clock in the hall chimed reminding Bob that he'd been sitting in front of the laptop so long it had gone into power saver mode. He moved it out of the way and stood. His stomach rumbled, and for the first time since his diagnosis, he felt truly hungry.

At the swinging door, Bob could hear Winnie and Sara moving around the kitchen, talking softly. The radio played in the background, reminding him of when he and Vanessa had first been married. She insisted on making breakfast for them on the cook's days off. She made the _best_ Eggs Benedict. Then, when she was pregnant, just the smell of food made her ill, and she had to give it up. If he hadn't been working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, he might have realized that it wasn't normal, and would've been prepared for what happened.

Holding in a sigh, Bob pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen. "Good morning, ladies."

For a few moments, the women stared at him as if they'd seen a ghost. Bob had to admit it had been some time since he'd entered this room, simply because it brought up sad memories.

Winnie dried her hands on her apron as she crossed the room. "Something we can get you, Mr. Bob?"

He smiled, and Winnie nearly took a step back. Did he smile so seldom that seeing it now frightened her? Or was it because he was wearing pajamas and his robe? Maybe it was the pink bunny slippers Armando had sent him for his birthday as a joke and he wore just because his friend thought he was too stolid. Whatever the cause, he rushed to put their minds at ease. "Absolutely, Winifred. Would it be too much trouble to make Eggs Benedict for breakfast? I haven't eaten it since before Maria was born."

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

" _All I'm saying is it's silly for us to be paying for two places when you spend most of your nights here, Kiba_." Dooney called out from the kitchen. " _Babe?_ "

Kiba cracked the door, calling out, "In the bathroom!" Moments later, she joined him at the kitchen island. She picked up the knife and two bell peppers to help with dinner. "My lease is up in a few weeks. I could take a couple of days off to pack, and move in the weekend after Thanksgiving."

"Perfect. The café is opening the week before, but I could help."

"No need. I'll grab a couple of the guys and gals from the office. I don't really have much. The apartment came furnished. Just need a truck." Kiba tossed the peppers in with the other vegetables. "Pass the onion." She put out her hand and caught the white vegetable as it rolled across the counter. "Thanks." With quick and efficient movements, she had it peeled and chopped in less than two minutes crediting her stint in the Army for her efficiency with a knife.

"Ow!"

The knife clattered on the counter as she rushed to Dooney's side. "What happened?"

"Cut myself. Dammit!"

She grabbed a clean towel and wrapped it around his hand. "Put pressure on it until it stops bleeding. I'll finish cooking."

He leaned down to kiss her. "You're too good to me."

"Well, you're worth it." The oil in the wok popped and snapped as Kiba carried the bowl of vegetables and steak pieces over to the stove. "Did you notice the counter's off level?"

"Saw that the day the realtor showed me around. Clint knows a thing or two about renovating. We could have him look at it when they come for Christmas."

He passed her the wooden spatula without being asked. Dooney was such a sweet and thoughtful man, and Kiba wondered how she'd gotten so lucky to find him. "Sounds like a plan."

The cabinets opened and closed. Dooney set two plates near the stove, and carried the silverware and napkins to the dining room table while the food sizzled in the wok, filling the air with enticing scents.

Next, he went to the cabinet and took down two large mugs for hot chocolate to combat the chill of the night. With her free hand, Kiba gave the milk a quick stir.

After setting the table, Dooney came to check on the milk, pouring it into the cups and giving each a vigorous stir to mix the cocoa, all while holding pressure on his cut. "How long till dinner?"

"Nearly done." She turned the heat down, and led him to the sink. "Let's get you cleaned up and bandaged then we can eat."

He averted his eyes as Kiba peeled the towel away from the wound. She wet the towel and used it to wipe away the blood. The cut wasn't deep. It wouldn't need stitches, for which she was grateful because it meant they wouldn't have to take a trip to the ER. She could do the stitching, but after what happened with Hill, they wouldn't want to take chances.

Dooney fished the bandages and antibiotic cream from the drawer, and shortly, she had the wound covered. She carried the bloody towel to the trash and threw it out, knowing from experience that it wouldn't come clean.

"Thanks, babe." Dooney carefully carried the cups of hot cocoa to the table, while Kiba turned off the stove and filled their plates. Even now, she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Dooney and Clint were related by marriage. When Dooney told her the truth, she'd been more than a little surprised because she, Wilson, Santino and Sullivan all thought Clint was single, especially after his performance with the real estate agent from whom they'd rented the brownstone. Clint had played her like a Stradivarius. Though now that she thought about it, no one had seen him do more than flirt or shake hands with the woman. With _any_ woman.

She brought their plates, and took the seat on the end. The couple ate in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company. She got up to get them refills of hot cocoa, talking over her shoulder. "Guess who came into the precinct today. Jacob Lester."

"Come to confess his sins so Santa doesn't put coal in his stocking?"

"Not even _close_." She carried a mug in each hand as she returned to the table. "He wants to be a cop. He's enrolled in the law enforcement program at County College starting next fall."

They shared a glance and a shrug as Dooney reached for the soy sauce, knocking over his water glass in the process. "Well, dammit. I'm not havin' _any_ luck tonight."

"You are, honey. It's just all bad," Kiba remarked. She reached over to help soak up the water with her napkin then carried the soggy mess to the sink, returning with fresh napkins.

Dooney peeled the wet bandage off, and she was about to go get another when he exclaimed, "Sonofa…"

They stared at his palm then at each other. "What the hell?" Kiba rubbed a finger over his palm where the cut had been. "That hurt?"

"A little. Not as bad as when it happened." He went to the sink to wash the hand and came back.

She picked up her hot chocolate. "How could it have healed so fast?"

~~O~~

Dooney had a hunch what happened, and because he hadn't given her full disclosure of where he'd been during the month he was "missing", he debated telling her even with the non-disclosure agreement. He now knew that Kiba was the woman he'd been waiting for, the one to make his life feel complete. Or mostly. There was still the question of kids. He wanted three or four, but hadn't discussed it with her yet. And now seemed like exactly the _wrong_ time.

"I told you about the clinic where I was treated for my leukemia."

She pushed her empty plate away and picked up her cup. "What about it?"

He took a deep breath and let it out. "When I went to my doctor to begin treatment, he told me it was too late, that the leukemia had progressed too far. Instead of a couple of years, I only had months, and they wouldn't be pretty." He drank the last of his cocoa, making a face because it was now lukewarm. "Rather than let my family and friends go through the pain of watching me die a little at a time, I decided to end it while I still had a choice." His hand came up to stop Kiba's angry tirade. "Save it. Clint and Laura have already raked me over the coals. In fact, Clint's the one who introduced me to the doctors who ultimately saved my life. And apparently, it came at a cost.

"You see, in order to save my life, they had to reprogram my DNA…"

~~O~~

Dooney finished his story, and sat there waiting for Kiba's response. She stared at the tabletop for a while then she got up to carry their plates to the kitchen and put them in the sink. He followed with the rest of the dishes, letting her absorb everything she'd learned tonight. It went on so long, he was compelled to speak or he'd go mad. "You're angry that I didn't consult you, or that I didn't tell you sooner?"

She tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "Neither. We weren't a couple when all this happened, Doon. It was your choice." Moving in close, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. "I'm just glad I didn't lose you."

"Me too." Moving back, she took his hand and led him to the sofa facing the fireplace. He put his arm around her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You know, we've made all these plans for the future, building a life together, yet neither of us has said the words." Her fingers brushed his hair away from his face, and she smiled. "I love you, Duane."

"And I love you, Kiba." They shared a long kiss, then Dooney got up, pulling her after him down the hall to what would soon be their bedroom. "Bedtime. I have to be at the shop early."

At the door, they kissed again. "I start on the night shift in a couple of days. You get some sleep. I'll do the dishes and put the food away, and be in soon."

"I should probably tell Clint what's going on."

"Up to you. 'Night."

~~O~~

Dooney got behind Stella's wheel, started her up, and headed for the Nook and Nosh. Today was the first round of staff interviews. Cam and he would be doing them together.

The incident from the previous night was never far from his mind. He finally admitted to himself that he'd been spooked.

Holding his phone in one hand, he debated for all of five seconds then made a call. "Clint? Dooney … Settlin' in just fine… Cold's not so bad, and it snowed last week. We're expecting more in a few days. But I didn't call to give you a weather report… Yeah, very funny… I just have a question about those doctors, Cho and Banner… You trust them, right? … No reason. Guess I should've asked before I let them play with my DNA… Kiba loves her job, and the café is opening the week before Thanksgiving… Interviewing staff with my new business partner, Camilla Barlow. She owns the coffee shop next door. We're making it all one place with an area for reading and quiet contemplation… When you come for Christmas, we'll show you the sights… You're staying with us of course… There's plenty of room…" Dooney sighed. " _Yes_ , I'm gonna talk it over with Kiba. You really think I'm that stupid? Hmph! Speak for yourself, Hawkeye… hanging up now."

Dooney's thumb hit end, and just for a moment, he sat there thinking. His question about the doctors who cured his leukemia wouldn't be forgotten. Clint would corner him and demand an explanation. Whether he'd share his suspicions with Laura was up in the air.

Until he knew the scope of his "powers", Dooney thought it best not to worry Kiba. Two people in love shared everything, but this was something else. What if this thing continued to grow until he was considered an inhuman? He'd heard rumors that anyone with special abilities would be required to register with the government, and that wouldn't fly with him. No pun intended.

And what about their children? If this wasn't temporary, an aberration, would his and Kiba's kids inherit his abilities, whatever they were?

The light changed, and Dooney pulled through the intersection and into the parking lot of the Nook and Nosh, noting that there were already several people milling around even though interviews wouldn't start for another forty minutes.

Taking a few deep breaths to clear his mind, Dooney put on a smile of greeting as he let himself and the potential staff members into the café. Cam was already hard at work, as were the contractors installing the additional kitchen equipment to supplement what Cam already had.

"Mornin', Cam. Ready to get started?"

Cam smiled, showing a full set of pearly white teeth. "I am. Though _you_ look like five miles of bad road, Duane. Didn't sleep?"

"Not really. Been thinking about proposing to Kiba when my family comes for Christmas."

"I thought you'd already popped the question."

Shrugging sheepishly, Dooney booted up his computer where he would view the applications and résumés of prospective employees. "Not officially. If I had my way, she'd be sporting a family heirloom passed down from my great-great-grandmother."

"Why isn't she?"

"Mom was wearin' it the day she died. It was never found."

Cam placed her hand over his. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. How did it happen?"

"She was on that Northwest Airlines flight in '87 that crashed on take-off." His partner's eyes softened into sympathy, and Dooney could see she was sorry she brought it up. He gripped her hand and released it. "No worries. Let's get to work. I see more potential employees headed our way."

 **Great Falls, Montana**

 **Home of Vice President**

 **Armando Salas-Herrada**

Armando, Army to his family and friends, sat at the desk in his home office staring at the cell phone in front of him. The situation Bob Hill asked him to address with the president had been squared away. By now, Louise Harker would have completed a draft of the order pardoning Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, formerly of the US Army, absolving him of all culpability in the D.C. incident, as well as any previous incidents attributed to his alter-ego, the Winter Soldier.

Before bringing Bob's request to Louise, Army had done a lot of research. He'd come across many articles and online theories suggesting that Barnes had performed at least a dozen assassinations since he supposedly died in 1945. He spent hours poring over eyewitness accounts and videos, and even an old KGB report found buried deep within HYDRA's files.

It was Army's considered opinion that Barnes was not responsible for the deaths attributed to him in the last fifty years. The man had to have a strong mind and personality if it took twenty years for HYDRA's doctors to find the right combination of drugs and conditioning to suppress the good man Barnes had been. He'd been used as a weapon to further HYDRA's agenda. And weapons couldn't be prosecuted for crimes their users committed.

Army had flown to Louise's family home in Baton Rouge to plead his case in person. He had to give her credit for listening to his prepared speech while reading from the hardcopy, and his cited sources. The KGB file had been the deciding factor.

It would take a few weeks for all law enforcement agencies to get the word, but that couldn't be helped. Some would think it a hoax and ignore it at first. Then, when the follow-up was sent out demanding acknowledgement and compliance, they would check it out online, probably going to one of those sites that specialized in debunking rumors. There, it would be discovered that the pardoning of Barnes was legitimate. It was also possible that issuing the pardon would lower Louise's approval rating. But she was from the south, and didn't give a rats a$$. She did what she thought best, and those who disagreed could go to hell. Now all he had to do was let Bob know, if he hadn't already heard it through the news agencies.

Using his thumb to enter the phone's lock code, Army scrolled his contact list to Bob's name and hit speed dial. "Bob? It's done. Louise signed off on it this afternoon."

A chuckle turned into a coughing fit. When it was over, Bob came back on the line. " _I can't thank you enough, Army. I'll call Maria and tell her_."

"Give her my regards. Oh, and I expect to be invited to the wedding." There was a tap on the door, his wife telling him it was dinner time. "I have to go. Happy Thanksgiving, Bob."

Army turned off the phone and shoved it into his back pocket. Tapping his fingers on the desk in a random rhythm, he mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

 **Brooklyn**

The sound came again. Someone was coming in through garage. It could be Natasha, though she wouldn't make so much noise. Or would she? James wasn't certain at this point. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she changed. He knew she could be one person when she woke up, and within moments, that person was gone and another had taken her place.

One night while they were still at the cabin in New Mexico, he asked for and received a demonstration of how quickly her persona could change. Each was as believable at the previous one. If she wanted, she could be a successful actress.

The garage door closed. There was no squeak to betray it, but he heard it nonetheless. At times, like now, having enhanced senses helped keep him safe. Other times, he wished he was again the same man he'd been in the forties. Just your average joe in uniform, heading into combat at his best friend's side, taking down the Red Skull's hidden fortresses, and blowing away Nazis.

No, that wasn't true. He didn't want to kill anyone. Not anymore. He wanted…

If he hadn't fallen from the train, he would be at the end of his life, and Natasha would be young and vibrant. Uninterested in a man nearing the century mark.

The footsteps stopped just outside the kitchen. James heard the rustle of clothing, and the crinkling of plastic. Was his unannounced guest Natasha? He had the phone she'd given him, but there hadn't been any calls or texts.

Flattening his back against the wall, he watched the doorknob slowly turn, and the door swing open. A figure moved past him into the dark kitchen, and he made his move.

In less than a second, James had grabbed the person's arm, and spun them around, getting the person in a headlock, the bones feeling delicate against his metal forearm. He could easily crush the larynx, causing him or her to die within minutes, but he wouldn't. Not unless he was forced to.

Placing his mouth close to the ear, James whispered, "Move, and you're dead."

 **TBC**


	6. Chapter 50

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 50**

The intruder was male, slightly taller than Natasha, and not scared. This close, James could feel the man's heart beating and his chest expanding with every breath. He bore none of the signs that his fight or flight instincts had taken over. That was why his attack came as such a surprise.

A pair of hands grabbed hold of James' arm in an attempt to pull free. Too late, James realized that his opponent was more than he appeared. The realization came to him as he was flipped over the man's shoulder and slammed to the floor, making the room shake with the force.

James gained his feet, and spent the next few minutes using his skills for defense only, not wanting to injure the other man. They circled each other in the diffuse light coming through the gaps in the living room curtains. As the man drew into the light, James could see just the upper half of his face, the eyes narrowed in annoyance, and not fear.

Wanting to put a stop to the fight before he was forced to seriously injure or kill him, James ducked his right shoulder and charged. His opponent caught him by surprise again by jumping over him, his hands pressing into James' shoulders to aide his forward momentum. He was light, quick, and strong, though not as heavily muscled as Steve, Sam or Clint.

James had stopped carrying an arsenal of weapons long ago, and had nothing in his pockets that would aide him in this fight. He would have to rely on speed and physical strength to overpower his opponent. Diving into a roll, he came to his feet, ready to end this battle, only to find that the other man had jumped onto the kitchen counter at the last possible second. He pushed off the counter, flipping in midair and landing in the middle of the room facing James.

Before James could do more than take a breath, the garage door swung open with a crash followed by the crackle of electricity as a third person entered the fray.

The men moved side by side against the new intruder, and James was relieved to see Natasha's face illuminated by the blue-white glow of the batons. Her angry voice demanded, "What the _hell_ is going on?"

~~O~~

Natasha extinguished the batons and shoved them into the back waistband of her pants, exchanging them for a flashlight, the beam flickering over James' features then the other man's. The smaller of the two blinked in the bright light, putting a hand up to shield his eyes. "Danny? What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, Ms. Romanoff. Didn't know you were back." The young man who had been instrumental in bringing down the HYDRA agent in their midst glanced to his left. "I saw _him_ lurking around, and decided to check it out."

She turned out the flashlight, returned to the garage and came back with several large bags with handles. The men parted to let her pass. She rummaged in one of the bags, and moments later, the room was lit up by one of the lanterns she'd purchased on her errand. "I appreciate you keeping an eye on things, and I'm sure the owner does as well, but you need to leave."

Chagrined, Danny crossed the room to her side. "I know the drill. Don't tell anyone, and don't come back."

Natasha smiled and nodded her thanks. When Danny had gone, she faced James again. "You let a kid get the best of you?"

"Didn't want to hurt him." He followed her to the counter, emptying one bag while she did the other, sorting the items, mostly canned goods, into groups. "Thought we were only staying one night."

"Changed my mind, if that's okay with you. Steve and the rest won't come around if they think we've moved on. And if they're questioned by law enforcement, they can truthfully say they don't know where we are." They stood there in silence for a long moment. "I've heard back from my contact."

James leaned his back against the counter. "And?"

From the last bag, Natasha took out two containers, releasing the enticing scent of meat, vegetables and spices. "The string I pulled tugged on another that has the ear of the Vice President, who in turn is in good with the President. Late this evening, President Harker signed your pardon." His small gasp of surprise filled her with warmth. She passed him one of the food containers, and they moved into the living room to sit at the small table by the window, checking that the curtain was closed so no one could see in. "We just have to keep a low profile for a couple of weeks until the law enforcement agencies and military get the word. That doesn't mean we have to stay here the whole time. If you want to leave, we'll leave."

He stabbed a ravioli and ate it while thinking over his options. "I don't have anywhere to go. Someone's living in my old apartment. I don't have a job. Can't keep hustling pool and the casinos for a living."

This was just what Natasha had been waiting for. "You need a job and ID to rent an apartment. To get a job, you have to have ID and an address. I can help."

Setting the fork in the container, James took a long drink of water then recapped the bottle. "You don't have to keep taking care of me, Natasha. I'm capable of being on my own now."

~~O~~

Natasha looked down at her food, using her fork to push it around inside the container. Just for a moment, James thought he saw hurt in her eyes. It was gone when their eyes met again, and that don't-mess-with-me glare was back.

"Yes, you can." She ate a few more bites, wiped her mouth and stood. "Would you like the rest of this? I've had enough."

With his higher metabolism, James needed a minimum of double the caloric intake of the average person. He accepted her offer, watching as she crossed the living room and climbed the stairs. Her footsteps padded down the hall, a door opened and closed, and that was the last he heard.

James was confused by her reaction. Wasn't this the result they'd been striving toward, his independence? Did she think he was sending her away? That he didn't need her any longer? Nothing could be farther from the truth. Most certainly, he _could_ get by on his own. And if she left tonight, he would be okay.

But he didn't want to be just _okay_. He wanted to thrive, to live life to the fullest, to laugh and dance and rejoice. To greet each sunrise with a smile. All of which would be next to impossible without Natasha. He didn't want her to go. She was necessary to his survival. He needed Natasha with him the way he needed oxygen. Without her, he would breathe in and breathe out, put one foot in front of the other, fuel his body, and go about his days, but that was all.

When finished eating, James carried the food containers to the kitchen and put out the lantern. On the second floor, he listened to see which room Natasha was in. She'd taken the one next to his. With a sigh, he continued up to the roof. The night before, he'd come up here with Natasha so she could introduce him to the gargoyles. Though he thought it silly, he figured it couldn't hurt to follow Clint's lead and talk to the stone statues. The biggest and ugliest, Balthazar, had been Clint's confident. Talking out your problems often helped ease the pain or presented a solution by allowing you to focus, or brainstorm as Natasha called it.

James circled the roof, giving each of the gargoyles a perusal before moving on to the next. Eventually, he came back to Balthazar. He sat down next to the pedestal with his back against the parapet, trying to decide how to start.

 _The beginning is usually a good place._

His imagination gave Balthazar a deep, soothing tone that invited confidences.

"Hello again. Thought you and I could talk, if you're not busy." James felt ridiculous, but kept going. "Sometimes it's really hard to recall the day you became friends with special people. Until recently, I hadn't remembered the first time I met Natasha.

"Almost six years ago, I was sent to assassinate a scientist. Natasha was the agent on the protection detail. She got in the way, and I shot the target through her. Over a year ago, HYDRA sent me to assassinate her and a man named Jasper Sitwell. The man is dead, but she survived, even after I shot her a second time. A few weeks later, Natasha showed up at the abandoned hospital where I was hiding, offering her services as a guide and mentor in this strange world I found myself in. We went on the run together. Why she chose to help me after I tried to kill her, I don't know…"

~~O~~

Lying in bed, Natasha watched the shadows moving on the ceiling. A few minutes after she'd come to bed, James had come upstairs. He paused outside her door then continued down the hall to the attic.

She'd been just a little hurt when James said he didn't need her anymore, and wasn't sure why. Making him self-reliant again, and able to handle himself in the twenty-first century had been the primary goal when she undertook this self-imposed mission.

Turning onto her side, she mentally went down the list of documents he would need to get that job and find a place to live, wherever that may be. He would also need a full life history.

Unable to fall asleep, Natasha got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When done, she stood in the hall for a while. The room James had taken was directly across, the door slightly ajar. There were no sounds, meaning he was probably still on the roof. After a short internal debate, she came to a decision.

~~O~~

The wind had picked up about the time James finished telling his life story to Balthazar. He pushed a hand through his hair. Getting to his feet, he patted the stone statue on the back below his wings. "Good talk, Balthazar. Now I know what to do."

On his way through the attic to the stairs, James came upon a narrow cot set against one wall, the roof slanting above it. Natasha told him this was where Clint often slept, and he could see why. It was quiet, somewhat removed from the other rooms, and no one would bother him here. Just for a moment, James entertained taking Clint's lead, but he didn't want to be so far from Natasha.

Her room was on the right at the bottom of the stairs. James listened, but didn't hear the soft susurrations of her breathing as he usually did. Perhaps she'd gone downstairs. He thought about checking on her. Instead, James went into his room and softly shut the door, nearly tripping on an article of clothing lying in the middle of the floor. Frowning, he picked it up, and found that it was a pair of pajama pants too small to fit him. His keen eyesight picked out a short sleeved t-shirt lying next to the bed.

The breath stalled in his lungs as he searched for and found a lump under the covers in the middle of the king sized bed. In the small amount of light coming through the curtains, he saw dark red hair fanned out over the pillow.

Natasha rose up on her elbows, covered by the sheet and blanket pulled up to her chest. Her shoulders were bare above the edge, and in the darkness, he saw her smile. She lay back down and reached out to him.

Tossing the clothes aside, James stripped out of his pajamas, lifted the covers and slid in next to Natasha, pulling her close. The feel of her smooth skin sliding against his fueled his passion as did the touch of her hands gliding up his arms to frame his face. He lowered his head and kissed her, slowly, and reverently.

~~O~~

The morning dawned cloudy and damp from the rain that had come during the night.

James was on his stomach with the pillow over his head. He peeked out, pulling the pillow down to block what little light there was, moaning with annoyance when he heard thunder just before the rain splattered against the windows. "It's raining again. Can we just stay in bed all day? Natasha?"

His voice was muffled, he knew, but still clear enough to be heard. There was no answer. He rose up on his elbows, bunching the pillow in front of him. The other side of the bed was empty. "Natasha?"

Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his pajama pants and put them on as he crossed to the door, hopping on one foot then the other. His t-shirt had somehow ended up hanging from the full length mirror in the corner. He tugged it loose, opening the door while pulling it down over his stomach.

Going to the room next to his, James knocked, but there was no answer. He turned the knob, and slowly opened the door in case she was sleeping. The room was empty. Not only that, the bed had been made, and Natasha's duffle bag no longer sat on the trunk at the foot.

Pushing the door wide, he went to the closet. It was empty as well. A sliver of panic set in as he checked the dresser drawers, leaving them open. He went across the hall to the bathroom. All of Natasha's personal items were gone.

James ran to the end of the hall, taking the stairs three at a time. He grabbed the newel cap, using it to swing around toward the kitchen. The cans of food and other items Natasha brought the night before were still stacked on the counter. Propped against the lantern was a cell phone with a power cord rolled up and tied with a twist-tie. The little blue light blinked telling him there was a message.

With dread filling his head, James hit the power button and accessed voice mail. There was a single message from an unknown number. Probably one of the burner phones Natasha often used. The speaker crackled amid the sounds of traffic, music and people talking. Over it all, he heard Natasha's voice speaking in Russian.

" _Good morning,_ _malenkii. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn't have the heart to wake you. If you had been awake, you would've tried to stop me from leaving, and I couldn't let you do it._

" _You were right when you said you didn't need me anymore, but I refused to see it because I didn't want to let you go. Selfish, I know. But then you knew that about me. Selfish and arrogant. Only looking out for my own interests or those of my employer. And greedy enough to want one last night with you before parting ways._

" _My contact in Manhattan will draw up all the documents necessary for you to return to the land of the living. He will also rent you an apartment and assist with finding employment, if you need it._

" _I've sent you a text with the address to the Citadel, a SHIELD facility. That's where Steve, Sam and Hill will be. I sent Steve's number as well. Go and join them, if you want._

" _Have a good life, malenkii._ "

 **Barton Farm**

 **Columbia, Washington**

The knock on the front door startled the entire Barton family except for Nathaniel, and that was because he was taking a nap. Laura looked over at Clint helping Cooper with his homework. He nodded, and Laura took the kids into the back room and softly closed the door.

One slow step at a time, he passed through the kitchen, stopping to grab one of the many weapons stashed throughout the home. He made a quick check and flipped the safety off.

The form silhouetted against the opaque curtains of the front door didn't provide enough clues for Clint to make out who it was as he moved to the side out of the line of fire. "Yeah?"

"It's Natasha."

Clint engaged the safety, tucked the weapon into the back of his well-worn blue jeans, and opened the inside door. His best friend stood on the porch with a duffle bag over her shoulder and a hopeful smile. "I need a place to crash. Could I hang out here for a few days?"

"Of course." He pushed open the screen door, and let it slam once Natasha had stepped over the threshold. "Thought you and Barnes were still in hiding."

She dropped the bag on the floor next to the recliner, and sat down. Seldom had he seen her look so tired. After the invasion and their defeat of Ultron, maybe.

He headed for the back of the house. Natasha followed at a slower pace, going to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. "He's got all his marbles now. One of my contacts will check in on him until we're sure all law enforcement agencies have gotten word of his pardon. He doesn't need me hanging around any longer."

The tone of her voice was off. She was a consummate liar, able to make anyone believe anything, but today, her mojo wasn't cutting it. "Now why don't I believe that?"

"Believe whatever you want, Clint. You always do." Her chin rose defiantly, daring him to contradict her. She passed him by, going to the back room and knocking on the secret panel. "Laura? It's Nat."

The panel swung open, and Natasha was drawn into the circle of Clint's family, hugging them one at time, the kids talking a mile a minute. And Natasha soaked it all in. Too bad she couldn't have a family of her own. Clint was happy to share his with her. She would come clean eventually about why she was really here. He just had to give her time. And if she didn't, he'd corner her and demand answers.

Laura shot him a glance. Naturally his wife would know something was up. He shrugged. What else could he do? They couldn't exactly talk with Natasha and the kids in the room. Anything Laura had to say could wait until bedtime.

 **The Nook and Nosh**

 **Sioux Falls**

Dooney shut down his laptop, exhaling loudly, glad that the last of the interviews had been done. Over the next week, he and Cam would go over their notes and the resumes, and make their choices. Background checks and drug testing would follow, further shortening the list. Training would commence on the following Monday. The partners planned a test run a week before the opening for friends and family. That way, they still had time to tweak the menu and service.

He slid the laptop and his handwritten notes into a padded case, and zipped it up. After sitting for more than three hours, asking the same questions over and over, all he wanted to do was go home, eat dinner, and sit in front of Netflix for a couple of hours before going to bed. Kiba had drawn the night shift for the next three weeks, resigning him to spending his evenings and nights alone.

Cam met him at the doorway that had been knocked out between their shops, a cardboard cup in hand. "Go get some rest, Duane. I'll take care of…"

She trailed off, her attention drawn to something out the front window. Dooney turned to look, seeing a man leaning against the side of the Hummer. A scowl came over his features that turned into a strained smile when he faced Cam again, holding up the cup. "Could I get another of these, please?"

"Coming right up." She was back in seconds. "Who is he? Is he going to cause trouble? Want me to call the sheriff?"

Dooney chuckled as he accepted the second cup. "Oh, he's definitely a trouble-maker, Cam. He's also my brother-in-law. And he would make Sioux Falls' finest look like the Keystone Cops. Do me a favor and forget you saw him. I'll see _you_ bright and early tomorrow mornin'."

With the laptop case tucked under one arm, Dooney juggled it and the coffee cups, using his back to open the door. Clint saw him and moved away from the Hummer, accepting one of the cups. He sipped the coffee, watching as Dooney opened the driver's door and laid the case on the passenger's seat, saying over his shoulder, "Why are you here?"

"You _know_ why. That phone call." They moved over to the shade of a tall tree. "Did you really think I'd just let it pass?"

"Guess not." Dooney sipped from his cup, gathering his thoughts. "I'm just surprised it took you three days."

Clint waved the hand holding the cup. "I'm here. What's going on?"

Should he lie? Fake a weird yet non-life-threatening symptom? He glanced sideways at Clint. The truth it is. "Let's take a walk. Got somethin' to show you. Just don't tell Laura or the docs. Not yet."

"You can trust me."

One side of Dooney's mouth curved upward. "I _know_. That's why I let you marry my sister."

He led Clint into a small park, through a grove of trees to an isolated table on a concrete slab. A rusty grill filled with decaying leaves showed that it hadn't been used for some time. They shouldn't be disturbed. He set his cup on the table and stepped back, holding out his hand. "Knife."

It was handed over without question. Dooney flipped it open and held out his left hand. "Watch."

He drew the knife across the middle of his palm, the blood welling up, bright red in the sunlight filtering through the trees. As they watched, the wound closed and healed itself within ten minutes.

Clint stopped in the process of taking another drink. Slowly, he lowered the cup. "When did it start?"

"Cut myself while cooking the night before I called you. But then, I got to thinkin'. Some weird stuff has been happenin'. Little things you wouldn't notice until they were pointed out, like cuts and scrapes that are gone when you get up the next morning. That sort of thing." Dooney retrieved his cup and finished it off. "Then the other night at dinner… It freaked us both out."

They sat on the bench, Clint with a thoughtful expression. He finished off his coffee and just held the cup. "When you tinker with someone's DNA, there can be unintended side effects. I'm sure it's not something the docs planned. For either one to go off script would be unethical, and they're both straight arrows."

"So what happens when Kiba and I have kids? Will they get this too?"

Clint shrugged. "What else can you do? Psionics?"

"Psy-what?"

"Read minds, make fireballs, move things with your mind, fly, teleport?"

Taken aback, Dooney stared at Clint for a long moment, wondering if his sister's husband had finally gone around the bend. "None of it. Flying or teleporting would be cool though. And even if I _could_ read minds, I wouldn't wanna read _yours_."

"Fine. I can take you to Cho, if you want, but Banner's out of the picture for a while."

"If I say no, you won't go behind my back, will you?"

Clint stood, heading back the way they came. "Of course not."

"That Dr. Cho? She's a little…" Dooney was cleaning the knife, unsure how to express his feelings about the scientist.

"Her bedside manner sucks, is what you're saying. It's not like you have superpowers." He accepted the knife back, and shoved it into his back pocket. "I haven't mentioned this little side trip to Laura yet, and I won't. It's up to you when to read her in. And don't forget, you still have the skinny on your dad."

Dooney rolled his eyes as they reached the Hummer. "You just _had_ to go there, didn't you?"

Grinning, Clint spread his hands out to the side. "I'm your older brother by marriage. And one of the ten commandments of being an older sibling states, 'Thou shalt annoy thy younger siblings as much as possible'."

Stella's engine roared to life. Dooney slipped on a pair of Oakley sunglasses to hide his glare. "Yeah, but _you_ do it like it's all ten commandments." Clint muttered two words not to be used in polite company, and Dooney pretended to be offended. "Say that again, and I'll tell Natasha what happened at your bachelor party."

To Dooney's surprise, Clint laughed. "If you knew what _really_ happened in Budapest, you wouldn't even _try_ that."

For an answer, Dooney buzzed the window up, shifted into gear and drove toward home. As amusing as his conversation with Clint was, Dooney still had misgivings about this rapid healing ability. What if other symptoms popped up down the line? Something truly frightening, like Clint's suggestions? And if he did come down with these psionics, would he be expected to become an Avenger, or register with the government? The thought was _not_ appealing. He wanted to make a life with Kiba, run the café, and live like a normal person. He didn't want to save the world, just his little corner of it.

 **The Barton Farm**

 **A Few Days Later**

Standing on the front porch, Laura watched Natasha playing with Cooper and Lila in the yard, just like she'd been doing every afternoon since she arrived. In the evenings, after the kids were in bed, she spent the time with Clint and Laura, and they had given her plenty of opportunities to say what was on her mind. And Natasha, being the kind of person she was, let each one pass without comment. Well, tonight would be different. Laura had a plan, and she would put it into motion after dinner.

 **That Evening**

The sun had been down for more than an hour, and it was time for Laura to make her move. She shrugged into her jacket, grabbed Natasha's from the hall closet, and went out the front door. Natasha was sitting on the porch reading, or pretending to. "I have to make a run into town while Clint puts the kids to bed. Wanna ride along?"

She closed the book and set it aside. "Sure."

Together they walked to the pick-up parked near the barn. So there wouldn't be an awkward silence on the drive, Laura kept up a steady monologue on her husband's idea for turning the dining room into a work space that involved knocking out a wall and tearing up part of the floor.

When they reached town, Laura turned into the parking lot of the Crazy Catch Saloon. Natasha shot her a glare which she elected to ignore as they walked to the entrance. Inside, the music was a little loud, and the room less than half full. Laura got a beer for Natasha and a soft drink for herself while Natasha found a table in the back where she could see the exits and still have her back to the wall. Laura joined her, passed over the beer, and plucked a pretzel from the basket on the table.

Natasha nudged her and pointed behind the bar. One of the shelves held several bottles of Forbidden Peak Vineyards Merlot, the wine their vineyard produced. She flashed a smug grin, took a long drink from the bottle and set it on the coaster provided. "Talk to me, Nat. Why are you really here?"

"Told you. To get away for a while."

"To quote Clint, bull****."

Natasha's eyes widened in shock. "Excuse me?"

"You're running away." She snorted and crossed her arms, hitting her with a death glare. And like always, it didn't even faze Laura.

"And what, pray tell, am I running away from?"

"Yourself." Natasha looked away without saying a word. Laura reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're in love with Captain Rogers' friend, aren't you?"

 **TBC**


	7. Chapter 51

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora for the Beta, and ladygris for her input and opinions.

 **To** **Arwyn T:** Your question about what Natasha and Bucky did while hiding out in the woods will be answered in the next couple of chapters. And thanks for bringing it up.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 51**

Natasha's first instinct was to deny the allegation coming from Laura. Love was for children, and because she couldn't have them, what would be the use of falling for a man who deserved more than she could give him? "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"That's your prerogative. Won't change anything though. You've fallen hard for this guy." She crossed her arms and looked away, but Laura wasn't done. "Does he feel the same?"

Loud voices over by the pool tables caught Natasha's attention. Two men were arguing over the lay of a ball on the table. The shouting escalated to shoving then their friends joined in. Soon, fists were being thrown, pool cues broken, and tables overturned. Men and women alike hit, punched and kicked anyone who came close.

Seeing the concern and fear on Laura's face, Natasha decided to take matters into her own hands. She finished off her beer, and pushed back from the table, whispering, "I'll be right back."

"Nat!" Laura grabbed her arm. "What about…" she nodded toward the camera over the bar.

Presumably, there were others. Natasha took out her phone, tapped in a command and handed it to Laura. "Hold this."

~~O~~

Clutching the phone, Laura watched with dread as Natasha waded into the middle of the fight. Her mouth dropped open at seeing her friend take down the brawlers without breaking a sweat. Most of the men outweighed Natasha, some as much as sixty pounds, not to mention having up to a foot on her in height. And she dealt with them as if it were just another day's work. Maybe for her, it was. Still, Laura was stunned.

Natasha came back to the table and took her seat, brushing the bangs out of her eyes. "Now, where were we?"

Laura dropped into her chair and pushed the phone across the table. Natasha tapped another command and pocketed the device. "I scrambled the security cameras as well as any cell phones recording within a fifty-foot radius."

Shaking her head, Laura indicated the formerly rowdy group. "I've watched you work out with Clint, but this is the first time I've really seen you in action. That was…" she chuckled, "…amazing. You've really been doing this since you were seven?"

"About that, yes." The bartender greeted the sheriff's deputies at the door, pointing out the culprits nursing various bumps, bruises and split lips before nodding in Natasha's direction.

"How're you going to explain it to the cops?" Again, Laura was surprised at Natasha's reaction.

She smirked. "Won't have to."

One of the deputies came towards them, pen and pad in hand. He tipped his hat. "Evening, Ms. Barton." He turned to Natasha. "Ma'am, the bartender says you're the one who stopped the fight from getting out of hand. Care to explain?"

Natasha scrunched her eyes in confusion. " _Izvinite?_ "

"Sorry?"

" _YA ne ponimayu_."

The deputy looked to Laura for an explanation. Almost too late, she figured it out. "She doesn't speak English, Stan."

" _¿Hablas Español?_ "

"Russian, Stan. She speaks _Russian_."

The man, forty-ish, tall and slender with brown hair, pushed his hat back on his head. "What's a Ruskie doing in Columbia, Washington?"

Laura narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. "She's Clint's cousin. We're having a girl's night out while he spends time with the kids."

Stan held his hands up. "No insult intended, ma'am. Maybe _you_ can tell me how…"

He cut off when Natasha began chattering away in Russian. Laura knew a few words, but not enough to keep up. She held Natasha's hand to calm her, and soon, she ran out of steam. Shooting a glare at Stan, Laura chastised him, "Now you've upset her. I'm taking her home. If you need anything else, call my husband."

Having dealt with Clint in the past, Stan gave every indication that he didn't want to do so again. "Yes, ma'am." Again, he tipped his hat to Natasha. "Welcome to Columbia, ma'am. Enjoy your stay."

The women gathered their jackets and purses, paid their tab, and left the bar. In the truck, Laura turned to Natasha. "What was _that_ about?"

Her companion chuckled. "Whenever Clint and I get pulled over by the cops while on a mission, he says 'now remember, I'm deaf, and you don't speak English'. It's gotten us out of more tight spots than the extraction teams. Works better than a tight sweater and cleavage."

"Unless you run into someone who speaks the language. I'm guessing that doesn't happen often." They drove in silence for a few minutes then Laura returned to the original subject. "Don't think that this little incident distracted me from our previous conversation."

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. "Worth a try."

"So, _are_ you in love with, um…"

"James." The rueful smile turned into a small frown that had a touch of wistfulness about it. "Falling in love has never been in the cards for me. What would be the use? I can't give a man what you and Clint have. James should have a woman who loves him unconditionally, children, a home. It wasn't part of my training."

Laura resisted shaking her head as she signaled and turned into the discount super-store. "Training has nothing to do with love, especially what _you_ went through.

"Lila, Cooper, and even Nathaniel get so excited when they know you're coming. I can see the affection you have for them, and for me and Clint. You're my husband's best friend. If you felt nothing for any of us, you wouldn't come around." Natasha tried to interrupt, but Laura wasn't done. "You can't spend so much time with someone, sharing your deepest, darkest secrets, and not feel _something_." She paused to let it all sink in. "Just the fact that you slept with him tells me more is going on than you'll admit to."

Natasha turned in her seat, eyes narrowed in what looked like suspicion. "How did you know?"

Laura slung her purse over her head so it was across her body. "It was the way you said his name. Soft and a little breathless."

The women got out and slammed the doors. "You see way too much, Laura. I should've gone to Arkansas to hang with Atticus and his family."

As they approached the front of the store, Laura had an idea. "Wanna have some fun?"

Intrigued, Natasha brightened. "What did you have in mind?"

"Same as the bar. You don't speak English. They know me here, so I can't pretend to be deaf, but I can be your…" Laura made finger quotes, "…translator."

The Russian hooked her arm through Laura's. " _Da,_ _sestrenka_." Natasha laughed at Laura's blank look. "I'll teach you Russian, if you teach me how to make your shepherd's pie Clint raves about."

"Deal. And tomorrow, you're going to pack up your things, go to wherever James is, and ask him to take you back."

 **Brooklyn**

 **After Midnight**

As he'd been doing every night since Natasha left, James carried the trash down to the corner and tossed it in the dumpster. It was close enough to the building that he wouldn't be seen by the cameras as he checked out the security system, and peeked in the windows to see what they had to offer in the way of food and drink. If the contact didn't get in touch with him soon, he would be out of food. Not that it was a big deal. He wasn't hungry much, eating just enough to appease his stomach.

With the hood of his jacket up, and keeping his head down so the cameras couldn't see his face, James shoved his hands in his pockets and went for a walk around the neighborhood. In the last few days, he'd rescued three cats and two dogs, changed four tires, and stopped three muggings, all within a half-mile radius of the brownstone.

Tonight, he didn't want to talk to anyone or get involved in stopping a crime, only wanting to feel sorry for himself. He didn't know when it had happened, only that he'd fallen in love with Natasha. Their few nights together had been so filled with passion and tenderness, he couldn't conceive that she didn't feel the same.

An hour later, standing in the kitchen, James scrolled the phone for the address of the Citadel, and Steve's number. With his thumb over the dial icon, he hesitated. What if he left and Natasha came back? She would know to come to the Citadel, wouldn't she?

James put the phone back in his pocket and returned to his room on the second floor to pack. If he left now, he could hop a train headed for D.C., and be there by morning.

 **The Citadel**

 **The Next Morning**

The sun was barely up when the alarm sounded. Maria was already out the door by the time Steve grabbed a shirt from the drawer, pulling it on as they jogged to the security room. "What's going on?"

Maria stood behind Eli staring at the screen. "There's been a perimeter breach, but we're not seeing anything."

"Could it be an animal?"

Eli spoke up, something he did quite a bit, and not always at a good time. "Too big for the wildlife in the area. The residual heat signature says our visitor is human."

Steve shifted his feet. "Just one?"

Shrugging, Eli made a quick scan. "Yup."

Maria crossed her arms. "Send a squad. Non-lethal force only."

"On its way." There were a few minutes of tense silence as the squad moved into the area where the heat signature had last been seen. Then the leader's voice came over the speakers.

" _You're surrounded. Show yourself_."

The rustle of bushes and crunching of grass preceded a familiar voice. " _If this how you treat guests, no wonder you don't get many visitors._ "

The leader cautiously approached, his weapon aimed with unerring accuracy. " _Throw down the bag_ _and_ _your weapons._ "

A duffle bag hit the ground. " _My name is Sergeant James Barnes, and I'm unarmed_." The leader motioned, and one of his men gave him the most thorough pat-down Steve had ever seen. He nodded, and stepped back. " _I'm here to surrender myself into your custody_."

Steve shared a relieved glance with Maria. To Eli, he said, "Tell them to escort Sergeant Barnes to security. If he's hungry, feed him. Commander Hill and I will be there in a few minutes."

After his orders had been followed, Steve headed for the detention area with Maria at his side. "Barnes made it, but where's Romanoff?"

"It's not like her to just drop off the radar without at least telling Barton."

As if he willed it, Steve's phone beeped with an incoming text. He read the message, and huffed in annoyance. "She's with Barton. Has been for several days. That would be Bucky's motivation for coming here."

"They were together for months. She wouldn't tell anyone except Barton where they were. Why would she leave him now?"

A shrug twitched Steve's shoulders. "She's the only one who can answer that question." They stopped outside security while he called Natasha's most recent number. He shut the phone off with an annoyed poke when he got a recording stating it was a non-working number. For one of the few times in his career, he let his frustration out verbally. "S***!"

"Steve," Maria reprimanded him with a smirk. "Language!"

He looked over at her, holding in a smirk of his own. The situation was laughable, yet it wasn't. Shaking his head, he huffed at her. "Knew that wouldn't go away."

Peeking through the window of Bucky's cell, he spied his friend digging into a huge plate of food as if he were starving. "Would you give us a few minutes, Maria?"

"Sure. I have recruits to torture anyway. See you…" Her phone beeped with an incoming email. Steve watched her eyes as she read it. "It's from Romanoff. She's submitted her resignation."

~~O~~

From the corner of his eye, James watched Steve through the invisible shield talking with his girlfriend, and wondered what they were saying about him, or if they were talking about him at all. He cut a huge bite of the French toast, chewing it while appearing to stare off into space.

Steve and Maria kissed briefly then she was gone. He nodded to someone out of sight. The shield sputtered and winked out just long enough for Steve to join him then came on again. The old friends hugged awkwardly, taking into account the fact that they were being watched. James couldn't see the cameras, but he knew they were there. That tingling in his arm again. He wished it would stop.

"Glad you could make it, Bucky."

They sat down, and James took a sip of coffee before responding. "What exactly _is_ SHIELD?"

"It's an acronym. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division." Steve waggled his hand. "It _was_ a covert government agency involved in espionage, and counter-terrorism."

"Was?"

Steve's scoff had more than a touch of sarcasm in it. "Everything got dumped onto the Internet while we were bringing HYDRA down." His eyes landed on James' plate. "Since when do you eat French toast?"

James looked down at his nearly empty plate, and shrugged. He could see in Steve's eyes that his choice of breakfast food wasn't the real issue. "You want to know why I turned myself in to SHIELD." Steve nodded for him to continue. "Because I wouldn't last a day anywhere else. At least here, I'm safe until we can think of something."

His friend digested that information, but didn't pursue it. "Buck, what happened between you and Natasha?"

James dropped his eyes to his plate again, pretending intense interest in getting every drop of syrup on the last bite. "Nothing. Why?"

A phone clattered on the table, and Steve turned it so he could read the email. "She's resigned from SHIELD."

James exhaled long and loud. "She was gone when I woke up a few days ago. I waited a couple days, just in case she came back." He wiped his mouth, tossed the napkin on his plate and picked up the coffee. "When she didn't, I came here."

Steve was silent for a moment, fingering the cuff of his pants. "President Harker signed your pardon. It won't be long until the word is out. You have Maria to thank for it. Her father is friends with the Vice President."

Bucky pushed his plate away, a small smile coming to his face. "First chance I get." Steve nodded to a man standing at the window watching them with a suspicious glare. The shield was turned off again. "Now that I'm here, _why_ am I here? I'm not exactly the secret agent type, Steve."

"Neither am I. That's Natasha's area of expertise. Barton often acts as her back-up in case things go south. I'm more of a search-and-rescue man."

Resisting the urge to distance himself from any conversation that involved Natasha, James crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "They're quite a pair. He's a wise guy, likes to grandstand, and I wouldn't want to get on his bad side."

Steve's grin said he agreed. "And Natasha?"

Taking a moment to organize his thoughts in a way that would sound objective, James drank down the last of his coffee, and set the cup on the tray with his empty plates. "She wants people to think she's emotionless and unfeeling when nothing could be farther from the truth."

Reaching into his back pocket, James pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and slid it across the table. Steve didn't pick it up. "What's this?"

"A list of the people I killed. The ones I can remember. There are still a few gaps in my memory."

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Bucky? You're no more responsible for their deaths than you are for global warming."

Confused, James blinked at his friend. "Global what?"

"Never mind." He stood, and James did as well. "I'll have Koenig assign quarters, and issue you a badge. Until you're fully vetted, your access will be restricted."

"Understood."

The friends went out into the hall. "We can do a quick tour then I have training with the new Avengers."

James snorted as the men walked toward the exit. "Earth's mightiest heroes have to practice?"

Steve made a similar sound. " _Everyone_ needs practice."

 **The Barton Farm**

 **A Few Days Later**

The night Laura told her to pack up and go back to James, Natasha fully intended on doing so. Then she received a message from her Manhattan contact. Reed had gone to the brownstone, but James had left the day before according to Danny. That boy saw way too much. With training, he would be an asset to SHIELD as a CI. She made a mental note to run it by Hill, but was certain her recommendations would no longer be accepted now that she'd resigned.

The supposition was that James had gone to the Citadel to join up with Steve and Hill. Good. He would be well taken care of. Now if only Natasha could stop thinking about him.

Taking out her phone, she accessed the photo James had taken of the two of them in bed that last night, the covers up to their chests and his arm around her shoulders. The only light came from the bedside table, shining on the left side of his face and glinting off his metal arm. He'd caught her in an unguarded moment, an affectionate smile on her face as they gazed into each other's eyes. They'd tussled over the phone with James winning. Later, he'd given her the phone and she found that he'd uploaded the photo to his Cloud account, and changed the password so she couldn't get in.

The same day she arrived at Clint's she'd received the photo by text. Against her better judgement, she kept it, transferring it to her new phone before destroying the old one. Her best guess was that James had sent the photo to remind her of their time together, to keep himself in her thoughts. And he would be right. Just knowing the photo was there made her think about him more often than she wanted.

After sending her resignation, Natasha had sent inquiries out to her contacts letting them know she was back in business as an independent contractor. Within twelve hours, she'd received numerous offers of employment. She turned down anything that required her to assassinate her mark at the end of the job. Others were rejected simply because she refused to work for a particular person, group, company, or government agency. That left her with several offers to test security or commit industrial espionage. Neither was at the top of her preferred list, but it was something to do until she reestablished herself in the industry. Or she could take time off to relax and recharge.

Sitting under a tree, Natasha watched Koda, Clint's bay, munching on grass and flicking his tail. She was thinking about going back to the house when Koda lifted his head, ears moving forward and back to catch sounds. Soon, she heard the clomping of horse's hooves signaling that someone was coming. This far from the nearest neighbor, it could only be one of the Barton clan. And because the kids were too young to go riding alone, it would have to be Clint or Laura.

She wanted to jump on Koda's back and ride away so she wouldn't have to talk about her feelings again, but it was too late. Besides, Clint was an excellent tracker. He'd find her or simply wait until hunger-hers or Koda's-forced their return.

Clint rode through the trees, pulling back on Thunder's reins. He sat there for a moment, looking into the distance as if he didn't know she was there then swung his right leg over and jumped to the ground. He tied Thunder next to Koda and came to join her under the tree.

Natasha opened the thermos she'd brought with her, poured coffee into the cup and passed it to Clint before taking a drink from the thermos itself.

Their silence was companionable, yet with a touch of expectation on her part. Whatever Clint had come to say, he would get around to it in his own time. And if he didn't, Laura would be waiting to pounce when they returned from their ride.

He held the cup out, and Natasha refilled it. She finished off the last of the coffee, capped the thermos, and got to her feet, brushing the back of her pants to remove the dirt, leaves and bits of bark. Clint handed her the cap, and she screwed it back on as she walked to where the horses were tethered. She shoved the thermos into the saddlebag, and untied the reins. Clint followed, and together, they headed for the house.

When Natasha could handle the silence no longer, she said, "Clint…"

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Nat? Anyone with eyes can tell you're in love with Barnes. You should be together."

"We're not together because I don't _want_ us to be together."

Clint made a derisive snort. "Yes, you do. But you don't _want_ to want to be with him." He let it sink in for a while, and when she didn't respond, he continued, "You have a great capacity for love, Nat, and it's time you gave it to someone who needs you as much as you need him."

Annoyed that Clint could read her so well, Natasha thought over her response. He knew her better than she knew herself. Nothing would be served by continually denying the truth. "What if, somewhere down the line, he decides that he _doesn't_ love me? That it was just a crush brought on by isolation and proximity? A touch of the ol' Stockholm Syndrome."

Clint's hand grabbed Koda's reins, pulling both horses to a stop. "And what if it isn't? Sure, giving your heart to someone is the greatest risk you'll ever take. Are you really going to let your heart be broken _now_ , and give up the chance that it could be the real thing just to avoid the possibility that it all might end later?"

Trying to bring lightness into the conversation, Natasha rolled her eyes. "Just because _you_ found the love of your life doesn't mean _I_ need to have someone. I'm fine on my own." Clint responded to her attempt at humor with a frown.

"You've been sulking for ten days. That's nine days, twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes longer than usual. It's time to move on, Nat." She didn't honor his comments with a response, prompting him to continue. "Fine. Let me put this in a way you'll understand. If you don't get your ass to the Citadel, or wherever Barnes is by this time tomorrow, I'll find him and bring him here. The choice is yours, _sestrenka_. Any questions?"

Knowing she was beat, Natasha gave in gracefully. "Can I get a ride to the airport in the morning?"

~~O~~

The hairs on the back of Clint's neck tingled, his instincts alerting him that Natasha was fibbing. He didn't give the sensation much credence because it had happened before when he knew her to be telling the truth. Filing it under "mysteries we're not meant to solve", he agreed to fly Natasha to the closest airport. He'd offered to take her all the way to the Citadel, but she declined, and he was relieved. The vineyard needed his attention for the next couple of weeks, making his threat to go after Barnes an empty one.

They returned to the house, and Clint sent Natasha inside to shower and change before dinner while he brushed down the horses and fed them. Afterward, he went into the tack room where he'd installed a shower, and kept at least one set of clean clothes.

Going in through the mudroom, he found Natasha and Laura preparing dinner while Natasha taught Laura a few words of Russian.

"…and no matter what anyone tells you, the most important phrase to learn in any language is 'where is the bathroom?'"

Clint slipped his arms around Laura's waist and kissed her on the ear. " _Gde zdes' vannaya komnata_. In Spanish, _Dónde está el baño_ , and in French, _Où se trouvent les toilettes_. In Latin, uh…"

" _Ubi est latrina_ ," Natasha translated automatically.

Laura shot him a glance behind Natasha's back. He grabbed a piece of bell pepper and popped it in his mouth, talking around it. "Why don't I go see what the kids are up to?"

If he left the women alone, maybe Natasha would be more open to discussing her feelings. He didn't hold out much luck, but it was worth a try.

 **The Next Morning**

Natasha waited until Clint had driven out of sight to pick up her bags and head for the car rental desk where she chose a fuel efficient hybrid. She tossed her bags into the trunk, got behind the wheel and drove to Vancouver, British Columbia. From there, she hopped a flight to the location of her first free-lance job since before she joined SHIELD, an infiltration to test technological and physical security of an international company with a defense contract. The only reason she took this particular job was due to the fact that they had no dealings whatsoever with SHIELD. That and she needed something to occupy her thoughts so they wouldn't stray into territory she'd rather avoid.

After being vetted by her contact, the ones who hired her had provided everything she would need for an unimpeachable alias. Apartment, documents, work history, a car, even photos of a cat she supposedly doted on. For this op, she chose brown hair instead of her natural red, glasses, and conservative dress that guaranteed she would pass unnoticed by most of the male employees, and would not be perceived as a threat by the women. The department she joined gave her access to most areas of the building, excluding the server rooms and security. As these were two of the departments she was tasked with testing, this made sense. If a low-level employee could gain access, then someone with harmful intent could do considerable damage, not only to their client information, but to their reputation within the industry.

Scanning her badge at the employee entrance, Natasha made her way to the office of the manager, taking a moment to get a reading on the man. He was in his forties, overweight, and had been in this same position for at least a decade to go by the amount of personal belongings strewn around the room.

She knocked, and he looked away from his computer just long enough to motion her in. "You must be the new girl, uh…"

"Charlotte Newberry." He didn't offer to shake hands.

"David Saxon. I'm the manager. Welcome to the HavenCorp mail room, such as it is. This day and age, most people use the Internet to communicate long distance. Some things still need to be sent old-school. It's our job to get the mail and packages to the correct recipient."

Keeping in mind her alter ego's personality, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

Saxon shut down the computer and heaved himself out of the chair. Walking as if he were stiff from sitting, he gestured for her to follow. A young man in his early twenties was sorting what little mail had come in that day. The packages had already been done. "I'm putting you with Greg. He'll show you the ropes."

Without bothering to introduce them, Saxon left Natasha and Greg alone.

Natasha waited until Greg had finished his sorting to speak. "I'm Charlotte Newb…"

Greg huffed. "Yeah, yeah. We don't have to be friends to work together. I'm only in this job for another year and a half."

"What happens in a year and a half?"

"I graduate with a Bach in business and marketing, entitling me to a 60k plus annual salary and perks to go with it. My goal is to be a senior VP within five years. Six at the most. On the board before I'm forty." He finally faced her showing watery brown eyes, glasses, an enormous nose, and a predatory glint that had nothing to do with sexual attraction. "You'll be the one delivering. Keep talk to a minimum, don't make eye contact, and _always_ get a signature. Just hand them the goods and the tablet."

Playing her part to the hilt, Natasha sniffed, adjusted her glasses and meekly replied, "Yes, sir."

Greg shoved stacks of mail secured with rubber bands into her arms. "Sort those according to floor in that basket over there. We'll go together the first time, so take notes if you have to because it's all yours going forward." He passed her a tablet. "Some offices only accept packages at certain times. Memorize the list."

Her goal was to identify gaps in their physical and cyber security. She'd been provided with very little details of the layout of the building or their current security measures so that her incursion would be genuine, and not based on information obtained beforehand. Not her most difficult job, but it kept her busy so she didn't think about other things.

Greg headed for the freight elevator, obviously expecting her to push the cart. "You're kind of old to be working the mail room. What are you? Thirty-four, thirty-five?"

"Twenty- _nine_ ," she stated firmly, "and recently laid-off. This was the only company that would even schedule an interview."

"Don't want your life story. Just making an observation." The elevator came to a stop. "Always start at the top and work your way down…"

The boy had a lot to learn about how to talk to people he considered his inferiors. She'd just have to show him the error of his ways. Another way to go would be to arrange it so that he never made it out of the mail room. But that would be vindictive and cruel, and certainly no more than he deserved. From the quality of his clothing, Greg had been brought up in a wealthy family, and probably felt entitled. It was time someone taught him that society didn't owe him a damn thing just because he had money. It was more than likely he took this job because it didn't conflict with a preferred activity, like club-hopping.

The rest of what Greg said went in one ear and out the other as they reached the desk of the CEO's executive assistant, a middle-aged woman with a stern face and thick glasses. Natasha handed her the mail and the tablet. The woman signed, her attitude saying she had better things to do and didn't much like being interrupted. Not a word passed between them during the transaction, not even introductions.

By the end of the day, Natasha hadn't spoken to anyone but Greg, Saxon and the lady at the lunch counter. At least _she_ was friendly. The one thing that stood out was that morale in HavenCorp was so low as to be immeasurable. Most of the staff walked around with their heads down looking at their phones or tablets, barely managing not to run into each other. And when a collision did happen, each blamed the other.

Such was Natasha's first day at HavenCorp.

 **Tyur'ma** **Khabarovsk**

 **Khabarovsk Krai, Russia**

Yuri Rozhenko stood over the bodies of the three men and one woman who had helped him escape from Tyur'ma Khabarovsk. A wisp of smoke drifted from the barrel, disappearing in the dim light.

It had taken over a year of planning, but Yuri was a patient man. He was also a great believer in the phrase "the more you know". Arman had taken a position as a guard to learn all that he could about rules, policies and schedules at the prison, while Vasili and Boris made arrangements for his passage out of the country. A chronic condition sent him to the infirmary several times a month. A situation that was relatively easy to contrive. Yuri had used that time to seduce the prison nurse, Leka, into assisting with his escape. He allowed her to believe that they would make a new life together in another country. That they would marry and have children, and live the rest of their lives away from the criminal element that had gotten him incarcerated.

He wiped the gun clean and dropped it on the floor. When the _politsiya_ investigated, they would find that it had been sold to one of Russia's allies. Several other such weapons had been procured by the men lying dead at his feet. And when he reached the United States, they would be waiting. He would use them to eliminate those that had put him in prison: Natasha Romanoff and her lover, Clint Barton.

 **TBC**


	8. Chapter 52

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora and ladygris for the brainstorming.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 52**

 **The Citadel**

The room James had been given was too small for pacing, at least not the way he needed to do it. He would've gone outside for a run, but Koenig had advised him against it until he got to know the area. As he'd always had a keen sense of direction, James thought it needlessly cautious, but took his advice. There would be a time and place for stretching the spirit _and_ the letter of the rules. That time was not now.

Before issuing him a lanyard, Koenig insisted James be given a complete medical work-up. His past experience with doctors still fresh in his mind, he refused. That got him a fast return to detention where he stayed for more than a day until Maria intervened, but not on his side. She explained that all members of SHIELD, however tenuous or temporary their association, had to submit to a physical. Per the orders of the director, it was non-negotiable, a deal-breaker, as she put it. The SHIELD commander must have seen something in his eyes or manner, because she offered to go along for moral support, only she called it supervising. When Steve found out, he wanted to take her place, but Maria declined saying she could spend the time catching up on paperwork. From what James had seen, the agency used very little actual paper, and twice he'd caught her playing a game on her tablet when she told him she was writing reports.

At their first meeting, James hadn't thought that Maria and Steve made a good paring. He sensed she was a tough-minded, by-the-book individual. She would be clear-headed in a crisis, loyal, and willing to go above and beyond for the greater good. Steve was much the same, but with an air of innocence and naiveté that Maria didn't possess. A quote from one of the movies he'd watched with Natasha stated, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one." They both embodied that philosophy, and he could now see why Steve had fallen in love with her.

The gym would be a good place to burn off the excess energy so he'd be able to sleep. He changed clothes and put on his cross trainers. Though he tried not to think about her, Natasha was always there, waiting, biding her time. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, and if she ever thought about him.

On his way to the gym, James ran into Steve headed in the same direction. Without speaking, they entered the empty room, and tossed their towels and water bottles on a bench. They worked through their warm-up, falling into the same rhythm from their Howling Commandoes days, taking turns holding the bag while the other punched. In the past, Steve had held back when working out with him. Now, it wasn't a factor. After bag, they ran on the treadmill until both men had worked up a good sweat then took a break.

"Bucky…" James did his best not to flinch each time Steve called him by his former nickname. "What did you and Natasha do while you were together?"

Whatever he expected Steve to say, that wasn't it. James shook his head. " _Not_ what you're thinking."

"Yeah? What am I thinking?" For an answer, James grinned and lifted one eyebrow, embarrassing Steve. To hide it, he took a long drink of water, and recapped the bottle. "You're both adults and single. With no other people around, it's only natural for the idea to cross your minds at some point."

Telling the truth would dishonor Natasha, and _that_ James would never do. "Whether it did or didn't, doesn't matter. Natasha understood what I was going through. Her solution was to instill some sort of normalcy in my life without the added stress of other people being around, and help me catch up on the time I'd lost.

"We hiked, went for runs, sparred, did something called Tai Chi, meditated, watched television and movies. Even when we didn't need it, she would send me to chop wood. We listened to music, read. She taught me to cook, and play video games, chess, Yahtzee, card and board games." It was Steve's turn to flinch, and James latched onto the small motion. "You've played poker with her too."

"She cleaned me _out_. Barton did too. Hint: never play poker with an assassin." Steve rested his elbows on his knees, and turned to look at him sideways. "Chess, huh? I tried to teach you several times. You never had the patience for it."

Getting to his feet, James looked down at his friend. "I'm more focused now. Whatever they did to me, Steve, it changed everything, not just…" He held up his metal arm. "I'm no longer the dumb jock I was in high school."

Steve came up beside him. " _I_ never thought that about you."

"Because you _knew_ me, Steve. You paid attention to details, to what went on below the surface. You knew that just because I was athletic didn't mean I was brain dead." James faced Steve. "The Army and the Howling Commandoes gave me a sense of purpose, a way to leave my mark on the world." Steve gripped his shoulder, but James kept his eyes on the floor. "Then HYDRA turned me into that _thing_. And for so long, I thought it was my fault, that if I'd been strong enough to resist… But they just kept at me and at me, day after day, until I just… I gave up. And one day, nothing else mattered _but_ the mission. _Always_ the mission. Take out the target, return to base. Don't talk to anyone, focus on the target." He was getting angry. To calm down, he turned away from Steve, closed his eyes and breathed deeply until the sensation passed, just like Natasha taught him. "Any time there was the slightest indication that I was starting to remember who I'd been or to show independent thought…"

"It's _not_ your fault, Bucky. And you're not the only one who's had his mind taken over. Barton could give you a first-hand account of what it was like for him. Tell you how _he_ coped with the knowledge of the lives he took. And you've heard the story from Natasha about our mission to Sokovia." Finally, James let his eyes meet Steve's, partially to gauge if he was telling the truth. "My point is we _all_ have our demons. Mine was being buried in the ice for seventy years, and waking up to see that the world had changed so much from what I knew, it was nearly unrecognizable. Then, after Peggy died, everyone and everything I'd known was gone."

"Clint seems to have his head on straight." Steve looked down at his feet for a moment, and James knew that he was thinking about the fact that he knew Clint well enough to call him by his first name.

"Once Barton got away from Loki's influence and into the heat of battle with the Chitauri, he didn't have time to think about it. None of us did. Then, when everything settled down, we each dealt with the trauma of the invasion in our own way. After Ultron, some suffered more than others. Clint was one of the lucky ones. The rest of us, not so much. It's called…"

"PTSD. Read up on it while I was… away. I still have nightmares, but they're not as bad. Don't get panic attacks anymore. Flashbacks are still hell, though."

The door to the gym opened and Clint blew into the room with a full head of steam, ignoring Steve. "Where's Nat?"

Clint's tone, part anger, part fear, set James on edge. "Gone."

"Gone _where_?" James kept silent, angering Clint further. The archer was several inches shorter, and not as strong. Any physical confrontation between them would not end well for him. "Tell me where she is, Barnes, or so help me…"

James straightened his spine making himself appear even taller. "Or what, Clint? What could you _possibly_ do to me that hasn't already been done?"

From the look in his eyes, Clint realized he'd made a mistake. He took a step back, literally and figuratively. "Just tell me where she is, and I'll go. It's important." He exhaled long and loud. "Look, Barnes, she's in danger, and I can't contact her to let her know."

The anger that had started to build in James faded away, replaced by a kind of fear. "What kind of danger?"

"A few years back, Nat and I infiltrated an operation run by a dirtbag named Yuri Rozhenko. The US and Russia were enjoying a political alliance at the time. Rozhenko had been plying his arms trade in countries considered enemies of the US, and had branched out into drug and human trafficking. When he was caught, Russia agreed to imprison him for the rest of his life in Khabarovsk Prison, located in Khabarovsk Krai, Russia. It's one of Russia's most secure prisons. No one has escaped and lived to tell the tale in more than forty years. Makes Gitmo look like a day at the spa."

"Until now." Steve uncrossed his arms as if preparing for battle. Unconsciously, James had done the same thing.

Clint nodded once. "Right. It's not that Nat needs protecting. She just needs to know Rozhenko is out, and he's coming after both of us so she'll be ready when he finds her."

" _Chyort voz'mi!_ " James rubbed a hand down his face. "I don't _know_ where she is. We were hiding out at a brownstone in Brooklyn. I woke up one morning and she was gone. Left a voice mail. It's still on the phone."

Steve turned toward the exit, James and Clint following. "We'll take it to IT. See if they can get a location from the recording."

"We can try," Clint told them. "Nat's been in this business a long time. Any clues as to her whereabouts are bound to be misleading. What we need is…"

Together, Clint and Steve said, "Jarvis."

"Who's Jarvis?" James asked as he followed the other men from the gym. He was ignored.

Clint pulled out his handgun, gave it a quick check, and returned it to its place of concealment. "Stark's still pissed at you, Rogers. I'll go."

"The feeling's mutual." Steve scowled at Clint's expression. "Don't tell me you agree with him."

" _Tony_ Stark?" Again, James was ignored.

The sound Clint made indicated annoyance and mild contempt. "Didn't _say_ that. But until Ross has gotten the Accords pushed through all the legal channels, it's best if at least one of us is still on speaking terms with Stark."

James clamped a hand on Steve and Clint's shoulders, bringing them to a halt. " _Who_ is Jarvis, and why does it matter if Tony Stark is pissed at you?"

Steve relented. "Tony Stark is the owner of Stark Industries, the company that made most of the components for your arm. He's also Iron Man. And Jarvis is…"

Clint finished for him with a grin, "…his co-pilot."

~~O~~

Bucky retrieved the phone from his room. Steve thought he would turn it over to Barton, but he kept hold of it. "I'm going with you."

Steve exchanged a look with Clint, who shrugged. "Not a good idea, Buck. He knows you and I are friends, and might take out his annoyance with me on you."

Having changed clothes while he was in his room, Bucky made a show of putting the phone in the inside breast pocket of his jacket. "I have to talk to Stark, and it has to be in person."

Steve and Clint stared at Bucky then at each other, confused. "Why?"

Both men could see that Bucky was reluctant to explain. Without consulting Steve, Clint nodded. "Right. You know, I'm betting my man Jarvis can do it from here." The archer held out his hand, and Bucky handed him the phone. Steve caught a glimpse of the lock screen before his friend closed it, a photo of Natasha and Bucky in bed together, though he took no satisfaction from being proven right about their relationship.

Clint took out his phone and scrolled to a specific number, his thumb poised to dial. "We should go somewhere private for this."

Standing back, Bucky silently invited them into his room. The door closed, and Bucky removed his jacket, tossing it on the bed. Clint pulled out a chair, spun it around and straddled the seat. With his left hand, he dialed, and received an immediate response.

" _Good afternoon, Agent Barton. How may I assist you?_ "

"I need a favor, J, and Stark can't know."

" _Mum's the word, sir._ "

Steve crossed his arms, content to stay out of it for the moment. Clint cued up the voicemail without commenting on the screen image. The archer could be a smarta$$, but he also knew when to play it straight. "We need you to analyze a voice mail to see if you can get us a location."

" _I'll do my best. Please play the message._ "

~~O~~

Unsure if Steve and Clint had seen the photo of Natasha and he in bed, James hesitated playing the message. Once they heard it, they would know for certain that they'd been intimate. His reasoning mind told him that his embarrassment overrode the need to warn Natasha of the danger she would be facing should Rozhenko find her before they did. Likewise, he was glad they didn't pursue his motive for wanting to speak to Tony Stark directly. That would be harder to explain.

He activated the recording, and hoped for the best. When it ended, he gave both men high marks for not even glancing his way when the exact contents of the message were revealed.

There was a short pause then Jarvis was back on. " _I've analyzed the recording, and have determined that Agent Romanoff was in Phoenix, Arizona at the time of the call_."

Steve shifted his feet. "Phoenix is a big city. Could you narrow it down?"

" _Of course, Captain Rogers. She was within seven blocks of the Arizona State University Preparatory Academy._ "

"J, what businesses lie within that radius?"

" _There are many for whom Agent Romanoff could be working. In anticipation of your request, I've located three that fit the criteria she works within. I've sent the list to your phone, Agent Barton._ "

The phone beeped. Clint read over the material, mentally prioritizing the list according to Natasha's skills and the business's needs. "Thanks, Jarvis."

" _My pleasure, sir. I too am fond of Agent Romanoff, and would not want to see harm come to her._ "

Clint shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "You've been eavesdropping again, J."

" _It would never occur to me, sir. I was merely monitoring the conversation for clues to assist in locating Agent Romanoff._ "

"That's _eavesdropping_ , Jarvis," Steve told the voice on the phone. "Thanks for your help. Remember, not a word to Stark."

~~O~~

Once in the air, Clint put the helijet on autopilot. The flight from D.C. to Denver would take a couple of hours, and with Barnes a captive audience, so to speak, maybe he and Rogers could get the guy to open up. He shut off the black box. It would continue to record the instruments and other information, but not their voices. If anyone listened, all they would hear was normal cabin sounds. He and Rogers shared a look; Rogers nodded and went to the rear of the quinjet.

If he started, Barnes might feel comfortable enough to join in. "The day Nat left Brooklyn, she came to the farm. After a few days of letting her brood, Laura and I both tried talking to her."

"And?"

"Went about as well as you'd expect. I dropped her off at the airport with the understanding that she would return to the brownstone. That obviously didn't happen. Now Rozhenko is on the loose, and after both of us. Yes, she can take of herself, as you pointed out. However, she deserves a heads up so she can prepare. If you knew where she was, why didn't you tell us?"

Clint's companion made a sound of frustration. "Don't know how I can make it any clearer, Clint. I had no idea she'd gone to Phoenix, or why."

Deciding to leave that alone for now, Clint chose another topic. "Why do you want to see Stark?" Barnes got up and went to lean on the wall opposite the jump seats in an effort to hide his emotions. Knowing the risk he was taking, Clint followed, and laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I thought we had some level of trust going on here, James."

Clint deliberately used his first name, hoping that would convince him to talk. Barnes glanced over his shoulder to where Steve had gone into the latrine, and nodded for Clint to take a seat. "After Scott removed the chips, my memory started coming back. There are still a few gaps, but most of it's there. When I arrived at the Citadel, I gave Steve a list of the people I killed. The ones I could remember."

"Yeah. So?"

He looked down at his feet and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Now I know where I've heard the name Stark before."

"From Nat."

"No. Before that. More than twenty years." Barnes clenched his metal hand into a fist, and opened it, turning it over to stare at the palm. "I remember it all like it was yesterday. The voice in my head giving me orders. The date, the time, the place. Hell, I even remember it was snowing. Not a lot. Just enough to make the roads slippery." He snorted humorlessly. "A situation that worked in my favor. Or rather HYDRA's favor."

Something was going on, and Clint sensed that it wouldn't be pretty as he waited for Barnes to finish his story.

"December 1991, late afternoon, Washington D.C. Howard and Maria Stark." When Barnes faced him again, there was anguish and pain and remorse in his eyes. He held up his phone that showed an article on the funeral of the couple, a young Tony standing with his hand on his mother's coffin just before it would be lowered into the ground. "Clint, I killed Tony Stark's parents."

~~O~~

Steve came out of the latrine in time to hear Bucky's admission of guilt in the deaths of Tony's parents. He'd liked Howard Stark, even considered him a friend. To hear Bucky saying that HYDRA had ordered his assassination struck deep. He would never blame Bucky for the things he'd done. Still, it was a blow. Whoever had been in charge of HYDRA at the time had seen Howard as a threat. But why? Was he developing new technology or was it just the possibility of him doing so in the future? Or was Howard digging into something that would've exposed their operation and it had gotten him and his wife killed?

Another scenario was that the deaths of his parents would send Tony into a freefall that would eventually bring down Stark Industries, the one company that might possibly eliminate the threat.

It wasn't talked about, and Steve would never bring it up, but while doing research on the time he'd missed, he came across news articles that enumerated Tony's many excesses, booze, women, and drugs after his parents died. That had a high likelihood of being the end result of HYDRA's machinations. And when it didn't work, when Tony straightened himself out, they went with Plan B. With Tony out of the picture, they could've approached Obadiah Stane, the interim CEO and made a deal with him.

Steve had read about the Iron Man versus Iron Monger battle, and Tony's public admission to being the man inside the red and gold suit. And though the official reports say that Stane had been in league with the Ten Rings terrorists in Afghanistan, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that they too had been funded and encouraged by HYDRA. Just because no proof had been found doesn't mean it hadn't happened. It just meant it hadn't been found _yet_.

All Steve could do for Bucky at the moment was pretend he hadn't heard, and wait for his friend to come to him. Until then, they had other things to occupy their attention, like finding Natasha and stopping Rozhenko. The man would likely not worry about collateral damage. That meant innocent civilians were also in danger, and must be protected at all costs. At the moment, the Avengers were the darlings of public opinion. From what Steve had learned of Rozhenko, the man was ruthless and savage in his business dealings. He would be even more so when seeking revenge because this was personal. He had to be stopped, and this time, Steve would personally see to it the man never again saw the light of day, whether that meant death or prison.

 **HavenCorp**

 **Phoenix, Arizona**

Natasha slowly but surely built up a rapport with the staff at HavenCorp. Through the use of subtle interrogation techniques, she began laying the groundwork for her incursion into the company's security systems.

Strangely enough, or maybe not, once she started smiling when speaking to the staff, and showing an interest in how their day was going, she began to see a marked improvement in morale. Some even initiated conversation, and occasionally invited her to go to lunch with them. Time she used for additional fact gathering while discouraging more intimate one-on-one events. Without coming out and saying so, she led everyone to believe that she had someone waiting for her at home.

After leaving for the night, Natasha gained entry into the Orpheum Theater. It was closed for renovations, and had the best line of sight. With one eye on her laptop, she changed into her jumpsuit, adding the Widow's Bites, Makarovs, and knives, as well as the rest of her arsenal. To get it out of the way, she stuffed her hair up under a thin knit cap. By then, it was time to go.

Just that day, Natasha attached a small device to the fire alarms, one on each floor, which could be tripped individually or all at once should she need a diversion any time of the day or night.

She scrolled through the live video feeds from the security cameras to determine the best possible entry point, settling on the south side of the building. It was in shadow day and night due to the number of leafy trees that partially obscured the external cameras on that side leaving a large blind spot which security patrolled at regular, predetermined intervals that hadn't been changed in years. The internal cameras were easy. She would feed them a recording of the empty hallways on a continuous loop that would cover her passage. If at any time she needed the live version, she could access it from her phone.

It was time to earn her exorbitant fee.

 **At An Undisclosed Location**

Yuri Rozhenko stared at the grainy photo taken from a traffic camera just two days before. His contact assured him that the woman on the right in profile was indeed Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow. Yes, he knew she was now going by the Americanized version of her birth name, but he would not give her, or anyone else, the satisfaction of using it. In his opinion, she had sold out, as the Americans put it. Had given up a life of prestige within the Russian intelligence community to consort with those less worthy of her talents. The name Clint Barton came to mind. The man was a smarta$$ with a big mouth. He'd grown up in a circus, of all things. Until going to work for SHIELD, he had no formal education or training. Once Yuri eliminated Romanova, Barton was next.

His phone rang, and he answered on the third ring, speaking in Russian. " _Zdravstvuyte_."

The caller responded in kind. "This is Isla. Passage has been booked to Phoenix on the noon flight, and a room has been secured for you at the InterContinental Hotel as Victor Judge, an accountant from Portland, Oregon, in town to attend a conference. How is your English these days?"

Yuri laughed, switching to English, which he spoke with only a slight accent. Not enough to be noticed. "Better than yours, Nadia."

She too switched to English. "Your travel documents will come by courier within two hours. When you arrive at the hotel, you will receive the address of the strike team. They will have access to any weapons you may require. If you need anything else, let me know through the usual channels. _Do svidaniya_."

 **An Abandoned Warehouse**

The team leader stood over the table, his team all around, and Yuri beside him scowling at the blueprint as if it had personally caused his pain. Pinned on the board were photos of a man and a woman, taken from the videos of the devastation in Sokovia. The woman had short red hair, and was dressed in a skintight leather jumpsuit. The expression on the man's face was calm, almost bored as he looked off into the distance while holding a recurve bow in his right hand, three fingers of the left holding the string. He too was dressed all in leather, the longcoat billowing in the breeze.

"…and once we've taken down the Black Widow, Hawkeye will be easy. The grief over the loss of his lover will make him careless. We will be there to end him, and your quest for vengeance will be complete."

Beside him, Yuri nodded his approval. "She will use the cover of darkness to enter the building. We will split into two groups." He pointed out several vantage points on the surrounding buildings. "Position snipers here, here, and there. Once we have control of security, we'll hunt down the Black Widow. When she is found, no harm is to come to her. Bring her to me. I will deal with the traitor myself."

 **HavenCorp**

Natasha had been inside HavenCorp for less than five minutes when her Spidey sense began tingling. Though there were few ambient sounds-the guards would be parked in front of their monitors-she felt movement in the air that had nothing to do with the environmental systems. Others were in the building with her when she should be alone.

The scuff of a shoe, unheard by most people, alerted her to the close proximity of hostiles. She crept to the corner, dropping into a crouch. From one of her many pockets, she produced a tiny mirror, smaller than that used by a dentist. She slid it along the floor until it stuck out into the next corridor, counting three men dressed in black sleeveless shirts with dark blue Kevlar vests. Their weapons marked them as Russian, or one of her allies. But that didn't concern her as much as the tattoos.

Once upon a time in Russia, prison tattoos were very common. The tattoos show a "service record" of achievements and failures, prison sentences, and the type of work a criminal does. They might also represent his "thief's family", naming others within hearts or with the traditional tomcat image. A thief's collection of tattoos represents his _mast_ , which indicates his status within the community and his control over others within their law. Even with laws against tattooing, inmates still performed the ritual.

The man on the left bore hand and ring tattoos, the one on the back of his right hand, _omut_ , indicated one from whom it is difficult to get away. When the third turned in her direction, she could see a white cross on a black background, indicating that he'd served solitary confinement.

Resisting a scoff, Natasha considered that she'd gone up against worse. The Chitauri and Ultron came to mind. If she hadn't gotten to know James, the Winter Soldier would've been on that list as well. However, she no longer considered him a threat to her wellbeing or that of her friends.

Getting to her feet, Natasha activated the Widow's Bites. The high pitched whine drew the attention of the men as she intended. She stepped into the corridor, one side of her mouth turned up in a sarcastic grin. In Russian, she said, "Hello boys. Shall we dance?"

~~O~~

A member of Yuri's team came up beside him, holding out a small tablet. Scrolling the screen allowed them to see the real-time video feeds of the internal cameras, and not the false information being displayed for security, most likely by Romanova. On it, he watched the Black Widow take down three of his best men in seconds with minimal fuss.

Yuri sent half his men to come at Romanova from the opposite direction, trapping her between them. With nowhere to run, she would surrender, and he would be victorious. And then he would have a little fun with her. Slow torture was his style, killing an enemy an inch at a time. If her reputation proved authentic, she promised hours of entertainment.

Holding up a hand for silence, Yuri pressed his back against the wall. On his signal, the members of both groups stepped out, effectively blocking Romanova's escape. There was a blur of movement, and suddenly, she was holding two glowing batons. They were shorter and bigger around than fighting sticks. The crackle of electricity scritched in his ears like a short circuit, and his nose caught a whiff of ozone.

Grinning nastily, Yuri took a half step forward, speaking in his native Russian. "There is no escape, Natalia. Surrender and I may show mercy, though I wouldn't count on it."

Just for a moment, he was certain fear had been reflected in her eyes then it was gone, replaced by a confident and triumphant grin.

 **TBC**

If you've seen _Iron Man 2_ , then you'll be somewhat familiar with the practice of Russian Criminal Tattoos as worn by Mickey Rourke's character, Ivan Vanko. The information below was found on Wikipedia.

During the 20th century in the Soviet Union there was a strong culture of tattoos being used to indicate one's criminal career and rank within Russian criminal and prison communities. Specifically for those imprisoned under the Gulag system of the Soviet era, the tattoos served to differentiate between who was an authority or thief in law, and who was a political prisoner. The practice grew in the 1930s, peaking in the 1950s and declining in popularity in the 1970s and 1980s.

In 1985, perestroika and the new increase in tattoo parlors made tattooing fashionable, and further diluted the status of tattoos as a solely criminal attribute.


	9. Chapter 53

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora and ladygris for their input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 53**

" _Time is of the essence, Agent Barton_. _There is a situation developing at HavenCorp that involves Agent Romanoff._ "

Clint and Barnes dropped into the pilot and co-pilot's seats respectively. The pre-flight check list was completed in record time, and soon they were in the air. Barnes adjusted his headset. "How do you know Natasha's mixed up in it, Jarvis?"

" _I've tapped into the frequency being utilized by the man named Yuri Rozhenko. He and his people have Agent Romanoff trapped on the second floor_."

Feeling the increase in tension coming from Barnes, Clint took over the conversation when he reached cruising altitude. "We need a diversion, J. Something to unnerve the bad guys."

Barnes broke in, "Can you shut off the power, and disrupt their night vision technology?"

" _I have just the thing, sir_."

Though he knew it to be his imagination, Clint couldn't help the feeling that Jarvis seemed proud of himself.

There was a short pause. " _The stalemate has been disrupted, gentlemen. Agent Romanoff has taken several of Mr. Rozhenko's team out of the equation. The others are in pursuit_."

"Go, Nat! Are you able to get a message to her?"

" _I am indeed, Agent Barton. Shall I inform her that you and Mr. Barnes are on your way?_ "

Clint looked over at Barnes, one eyebrow crawling up his forehead, and a smug grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "Contact her, and say 'Budapest'. She'll know what it means."

" _Done, sir. May I ask…_ "

The helicopter banked around to the right, and straight ahead, Clint could see the HavenCorp building. "Classified, J. Nat'll be on the roof in less than two minutes, Barnes. We won't be able to land, so you have to deploy the ladder. Once she's on board, we're outta here."

"On it." Barnes climbed into the back, slid the door open and dropped the ladder over the side.

" _We have another problem, Agent Barton. There are snipers on several of the surrounding buildings. Apparently Mr. Rozhenko anticipated that Agent Romanoff may attempt to escape, and took steps to prevent it._ "

Swearing under his breath, Clint opened a channel to their back-up on the ground. "You there, Cap? Jarvis is causing a disturbance in the Force as a distraction for Nat. Wanna up the ante from your end?"

There was a crackle of static, then Rogers' voice came on. " _Copy that, Barton. Front door's locked. I'll have to use my key_." A moment later there was a clang and the sound of metal hitting the ground. " _I'm in. Location of Rozhenko's team, Jarvis?_ "

The AI barely paused. " _What's left of the team is attempting to reach the roof access before Agent Romanoff. They will not be successful_."

Barnes broke in, "How do you know? What if they've caught up to her already?"

" _Agent Romanoff is quite resourceful. She's also only one floor below the roof and they are four floors below that. It is likely that Agent Barton and yourself will affect a rescue before they catch up to her._ "

Clint pointed his chin at the HavenCorp building just ahead. "Get ready, Barnes."

His companion adjusted his position. "Just don't hit anything on the way in, Barton."

~~O~~

As Clint circled the building, the roof access opened and Natasha exited at a run to gunfire coming from the surrounding buildings. Barnes braced himself in the doorway with one foot on the skid as the chopper tilted at a wild angle.

"Weapons under the back seat. Three targets. Get them before they get Nat."

"On it." James pulled out a sweet little sniper rifle, added a magazine, and flipped off the safety. "Let's do this."

James knew his voice didn't betray his fear for Natasha. He also knew that Clint wouldn't be fooled. He was made for this. Made to take out a target and move on. No remorse, no compassion, no grief. He told Natasha that he wouldn't kill ever again, but the men below weren't giving him a choice. It was their lives or that of the woman he loved. In his mind, there was no contest. Whether they ended up together or not, Natasha had to live. Plan A had to work because there was no Plan B. No option. The lives of the enemy would be forfeit.

"Coming up on your two o'clock, Barnes."

The muzzle of the rifle came up as James aimed at the indicated spot, waiting for the sniper to fire off a shot so he could take him out. He chanced a quick glance at HavenCorp's roof. Natasha, an amorphous shape hunkered down between the environmental units, popped off a few shots, more to deter the snipers than an attempt to take them out. It encouraged them to shoot back and when they did, James took them out one by one.

Natasha waited a few moments then slowly got to her feet, peering into the sky. She waved and moved out into the open.

Clint was moving into place so Natasha could climb to freedom when the roof door opened. Men and women came out, shooting in her direction. She dived to the side, and rolled back to her feet, running in a random pattern while Rozhenko's people separated in an attempt to surround her. The only person missing from the group below was their leader. Obviously, Rozhenko felt he was more valuable than any other member of his team because James could see him lurking in the deeper shadows at the top of the stairs. He was tempted to just kill the man and end the reign of terror he no doubt planned on resuming once he'd accomplished his goal of eliminating Natasha and Clint.

 _Not_ _gonna happen!_

Aiming for the legs, James took out those on the roof, leaving only Natasha and Rozhenko. The Russian criminal was unlikely to allow her to leave when his goal was so close.

James set the rifle out of the way and swung his legs out. Over the roaring of the wind and sound of the rotors, he shouted, "Get as close as you can. We'll have to pick her up on the fly."

"Got it. Make it work, Barnes."

"You do the flying, Clint. I'll do the rescuing."

Clint may have made a smarta$$ remark, but James wasn't listening. He jumped out of the helicopter, allowing himself to fall, catching the rung three from the bottom with his left arm. Hooking one leg through the rung, he let himself hang upside down as they neared Natasha's hiding place.

She saw the chopper and moved out into the open again with her left arm extended, leaving the right free to return fire. Then she returned the Makarov to its holster and reached into the pocket where he knew she kept the Taser discs.

Rozhenko stepped out of hiding, his weapon coming up, aimed unerringly for Natasha's chest.

Natasha moved her right arm, flinging the disc at Rozhenko, hitting him in the solar plexus. The man stiffened, and fell to the ground, his weapon still clutched in his right hand.

A second later, James grabbed Natasha's outstretched arm. Clint angled sharply upward to avoid hitting the taller buildings surrounding HavenCorp while Natasha climbed over James onto the ladder. He came up behind her, pressing close to her back to keep her from falling. "I've got you! Go!"

The wind tore at their clothes and blew James' hair in his face, but he couldn't be concerned with that now. All that mattered was Natasha's safety. She nodded, and began climbing. James stayed with her, and when they reached the top, he boosted her inside.

She got to her knees and spun around, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him up. James could've told her not to bother, but it wasn't important. He fell into the chopper, pulled out his knife and cut the ropes securing the ladder. Grabbing the handle, he slammed the door shut, cutting out most of the noise. Before he could turn around, Natasha was in his arms, sitting on his lap.

~~O~~

The rear door slammed shut, and Clint headed for the nearest building with a helipad. Over his shoulder, he said, "Gotta love those daring, last second rescues, huh, Nat? They really get the ol' adrenaline pumping." There was no response from her or Barnes, causing a sliver of fear to work its way in. "Nat? Barnes?"

Still no response. Clint rushed the landing, hitting the roof of the bank with a thump. He turned to lever himself out of the pilot's seat, and stopped. Barnes was lying on the floor of the rear compartment with Natasha on top of him, and they were making out like teenagers at a drive-in.

Facing front again, Clint clicked his headset. "Cap, Rozhenko is on the roof waiting to be taken into custody."

" _I'm there, Barton, and he's gone._ Those Taser discs don't last long."

"How did he get past you?"

There was a click, and a voice came from the chopper's police band radio. " _Attention all units. An armed and extremely dangerous man has taken hostages in the Java Junction on Wilshire and Main. Proceed with caution! SWAT is enroute. All units report!_ "

~~O~~

Yuri regained consciousness with a start. Scanning the rooftop, her found that he was the only one of the team left. The rest were unconscious, wounded, dead, or taken into custody. Soon, the police, or worse, Barton and his people would arrive to do the same to him. He couldn't let that happen. Prison was worse than a quick death because there, you died a little at a time, prolonging the agony. There was only one thing to do, go to the alternate plan.

He headed down the stairs. Hearing someone coming up, he opened the door at the next floor and eased it shut without a sound. With the blueprints of the building in his mind, he made his way to the second set of stairs.

On the first floor, Yuri left through the broken front door, removing the shirt covering the device underneath. He ran across the street, barely avoiding being hit by several cars and a cab. They all slammed on their brakes and shouted obscenities at him, but he didn't care.

He entered the coffee shop, filled almost to capacity at this time of the evening, everyone turning to stare at the strange man, dirty and panting from his run. Slowly and deliberately, he took a remote from one of his pockets and held it up. "This is a bomb. Everyone place your cell phones on the counter and get on the floor now! Over there, away from the windows." He pointed at one of the baristas. "You! Close the blinds and lock the door! Quickly!"

The young man rushed to do as he was told, and returned to take a seat with the rest of the hostages.

In the distance and coming closer, they could hear the shriek of sirens. Police, EMTs and fire engines. They blocked the street, several of the officers directing vehicles and pedestrians to hurry. Though he couldn't see it, Rozhenko had seen enough American police dramas to know what would happen next.

A negotiator would call, and attempt to convince him to come out. That failing, they would then try to convince him to let the hostages go. And they would fail in that as well. He'd chosen this place in particular because there was a day care center next door. There would not be many children and caregivers present at this time, but it would be more than enough to convince those in control to let him go. Americans were notoriously sentimental when it came to their young. In Russia, they dealt with hardships every day. And every day, people died. It was inevitable. At least these people would know in the moment of their deaths. The end would come for them within seconds of Yuri pressing the detonator.

The phone rang, and Yuri grinned. _So it begins_.

~~O~~

Sitting with her knees up so their captor couldn't see what she was doing, Susan Castillo slipped her cell phone out, thanking God that she'd set it on mute; he wouldn't hear as she dialed 9-1-1. She tucked the phone behind her so everything that was said could be heard by the operator. He or she would contact the SWAT team leader, letting them know what was going on inside.

The man appeared deranged. He was sweating and breathing much too fast, though not enough to hyperventilate. Too bad.

He gestured, and the barista who'd closed the blinds retrieved the store's handset. He handed it to the man, and returned to his seat, glaring at the man's back as he paced back and forth spouting rhetoric that ended with his demands.

"…You have fifteen minutes to bring me the Black Widow and Hawkeye. For every minute that they are late, I will kill a hostage." He glanced at the clock. "Your time begins…now."

Susan wondered what this man, who'd given his name as Yuri Rozhenko, wanted with two of the Avengers. He hadn't said, so anything she could come up with would be wild speculation. She wanted to reassure her fellow captives that the police would get them out of this, but in every cop drama, movie or television, someone invariably narced, whether accidentally or on purpose in order to prevent or delay his or her death. She kept it to herself.

~~O~~

To Clint's relief, Natasha and Barnes had stopped what they'd been doing, and were now sitting side by side on the rear bench, his arms around her, and her head on his shoulder.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we got something coming over the police band."

His companions knelt behind the center console. Natasha touched him on the arm and flashed a smile of thanks for the daring rescue then got down to business. "Let's hear it."

Clint shut down the systems and removed his headset. "I got the 4-1-1."

Barnes opened the door, extending a hand to help Natasha. Clint jumped down, leading the way to the roof access. "Yuri's in the coffee shop across from HavenCorp. He's wearing a bomb. Wants Nat and me or he's going to start killing hostages."

"How many?" Barnes inquired as the trio headed down the stairs.

"Unsure. At least fifteen in the shop. There's also a day care next door. SWAT is working on getting the kids and their caretakers out without being seen."

In the lead, Natasha glanced over her shoulder. "Where's Cap?"

For an answer, Clint tapped his headset. "Barton to Rogers. What's your twenty?"

" _I'm in the SWAT command post. Join us_."

Clint flashed Natasha a thumbs up. "On our way."

~~O~~

Before Clint could knock, the door was opened from the inside by Rogers. "Lieutenant Ang, this is Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and James Barnes."

The Asian man stood to shake hands, his hair brushing the roof of the ban. He peered at Barnes in the light coming from the monitors on both walls. "And he is…?"

"With _us_ ," Rogers told him in a no-nonsense voice.

Ang's eyes flitted from one to the other and back to their leader. He gestured at the first monitor on the left. "Yuri Rozhenko was sentenced to life in prison for arms, drug and human trafficking. He escaped from a high security prison in Kha-bar…"

"Khabarovsk," Clint finished for him. "We know. We put him there. That's why he has it in for us."

Natasha stepped between the men. "What are his demands?"

Ang leveled a glare at his guests. "He wants the two of you. Once you're inside, he'll let the hostages go."

Steve crossed his arms. "Let's assume that's a lie."

The SWAT leader raised his arms and let them slap his thighs. "We've evacuated the rest of the building and the surrounding area. All that's left are the people inside the shop. We don't know the range of the bomb. He's been careful not to be seen through the windows. However, we do have a man inside. Or rather, a woman." Ang nodded and the tech brought up a new set of stats for a female patrol officer by the name of Susan Castillo. "She's only been on the force for two years, but has a good head on her shoulders." He nodded at another monitor, and the tech tapped a few keys. Words flowed across the screen, while the audio played.

Clint shared a glance with Natasha. The voice doing most of the talking was Rozhenko's, of course. At the moment, he was ordering one of the baristas to make him a drink. The familiar sucking, gurgling sound stopped. Yuri slurped the drink as he paced in front of the hostages.

On the infrared display, they could see one of the hostages, Castillo, move her hands behind her back. The woman was smart enough not to engage Yuri in conversation that would give away her status as a cop.

Yuri stopped moving to face the window, and Castillo took the opportunity to shove the phone down the back of her pants, cutting off the audio.

One of the women ventured, " _Dude, I gotta pee._ "

" _Nyet! You're not getting a chance to slip out the back door._ "

Obviously playing up to their captor, one of the baristas raised his hand. " _The bathrooms are over there, sir. Nowhere near the back door. And no windows._ "

Castillo responded, " _I watch television. I know how this works. If I escape, you'll take it out on the other hostages. Not gonna risk it_."

Gesturing with the hand holding the remote, Yuri gave his permission. " _If you're gone longer than two minutes_ …" a weapon appeared in his other hand, he chambered a round, and pointed it at another hostage, " _…this one will die_."

The police officer scrambled to her feet and ran into the bathroom. Moments later, they started receiving text from her phone with a photo of Yuri and the bomb. It wasn't perfect, but Clint could work with it.

Castillo was insightful in her observations of Yuri, even giving her opinion of his psychological state. Clint agreed with her assessment. Ang did as well, to go by his expression. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Natasha and Barnes sticking close together without actually touching. They were watching the words scroll across the screen, taking everything in. A subtle movement caught his eye. Not much, just a finger as Natasha touched the back of Barnes' hand. He returned the gesture, but it didn't stop there. Somehow, they were communicating without speaking. Knowing her as well as he did, Clint could tell what was in her mind. She wanted to give herself up so the hostages would be freed. No, it was something else. And Barnes wasn't happy about it.

"Cap, I have an idea, and Stark's going to help." Rogers and Ang gave Natasha their attention, and she looked back with an impudent grin.

~~O~~

The store's phone rang. Yuri set aside his drink to answer it. "You're taking too long. The first hostage dies in two minutes."

A snort of contempt came through the line that he didn't like at all.

" _Thought you had a little more patience, Yuri_."

The voice was immediately recognizable. Natalia, traitor to the Russian people. He had to give her marks for her use of their native language. "It is wearing thin these days, Natalia. Prison does that to a man."

" _If you hadn't broken the law, you wouldn't be in this predicament. Perhaps you should've thought about that before becoming involved in illegal activities_."

He paced in front of the hostages. One of the women had been crying, and he was content to let her. Then she stopped, and it felt as if she no longer saw him as a threat, but that turned out not to be the case. She stopped crying because she was being comforted. _Bah! Americans are too soft_.

"And do what? There was nothing in the town where I grew up. Farms, logging, or toiling in the mines. I wanted more for myself than digging in the dirt, swinging an ax, or spending my entire life underground while my lungs turned black."

" _That's the past. Look to the future. The next prison won't be as easy to escape from as the last one_."

He engaged the speaker, placed the phone on the table, and the weapon came out again. "Enough of this banal talk." He chambered a round, making certain she heard. "You and your lover have one minute to appear. After that, I will kill one hostage every sixty seconds. If at the end of ten minutes, you have still not show yourselves, I will go with Plan B."

" _And what's Plan B, Yuri? You wet yourself when we break in and take you down?_ "

Yuri's bantering mood flipped over to anger. "Show yourselves now! Or the woman dies!"

" _Relax. We're coming in, and we're unarmed. Open the door_."

The Russian shut off the phone and motioned for the barista to unlock the door. It was opened from the outside. Black gloved hands grabbed him and pulled him to safety. A moment later, the door opened again. Natalia, the traitor entered just ahead of her lover, Barton. Both held their hands up.

"We're here, Yuri," Barton challenged. "It's your turn. Let the hostages go."

Shaking his head at their naiveté, Yuri backed up so that he could see everyone. "Move over there." He waited for his order to be obeyed, which they did with all speed, and that made him suspicious. He pointed at several people. "Go now. Before I change my mind."

The hostages he pointed at scrambled to their feet and wasted no time leaving. Through the door, Yuri could see black-clad figures leading them away. Natalia's eyes swept over those left. "We had an agreement. Us for the hostages. All of them."

"I've changed my mind. These are my insurance." Yuri felt his anger surging at Natalia's scoff. "When I am ready, I will kill Barton first. He will slowly bleed to death while you watch. _That_ is your punishment."

When Natalia spoke again, he heard fear for the first time, though she tried to hide it. "What ever happened to ladies first?" She didn't wait for him to respond. Her arms lowered to her sides. "You're not keeping your word, Yuri. I'm outta here."

She turned her back on him and started for the door, stopping when Barton grabbed her shoulder. "Nat! You can't. He'll kill them."

Looking over her shoulder at the people on the floor, Natalia seemed indifferent to their fates. "I won't do business with someone who goes back on his word."

Yuri let her get almost to the door then shot her three times in the back, ignoring the screams from the hostages. She stumbled, took one more step and fell face down. A pool of blood formed around her, she took one last breath, and was still.

Barton took a step in her direction, stopped and turned. His shoulders slumped in defeat. This is what Yuri had been waiting for.

"I'd planned on killing you first, Barton, just to see the look on Natalia's face as her lover died in front of her, but this is so much more satisfying." Barton mumbled a few unintelligible words. "Speak up."

His adversary cleared his throat. "We were never lovers, Yuri. Her husband died years ago leaving her to raise their son alone. We were friends. Nothing more."

"Just seeing you like this was worth the trouble of breaking out of prison, and traveling all the way to Arizona." Without asking, Barton dropped into a chair. "And I am willing to be magnanimous. The rest of the hostages can go."

He waved, and those left made a hasty exit. As soon as the door closed, Barton's entire attitude changed. His head came up, a smug grin having replaced the shock of losing Natalia.

Light flickered in his peripheral vision, and when he turned, Natalia's body disappeared along with the blood. Yuri turned back to Barton who was now on his feet. He raised his left hand and flipped off a salute. " _Ty proigral_ , _mu'dak_." (You lose, a******.)

He too vanished, and in that moment, Yuri realized that he'd been tricked in royal fashion.

~~O~~

In his perch across from the coffee shop, Clint watched Yuri's body temperature climb when he realized that he'd been conversing with holograms of Natasha and him. Now it was time to put it all to rest, once and for all.

Clint knew the type of explosive device contained in the vest, and the best way to disarm it, but to do that, he would have to be there. If there had been another way to do this without rising lives, he'd have jumped on it.

He adjusted the string's tension and nocked an arrow. The one hitch in his plan was that the blinds were still drawn. Clint only had the infrared display to go by to make this work.

Taking a deep breath, he brought the bow up, aiming for the sweet spot, an area of the bomb not even two inches in circumference. It called for a narrow tip made of a non-conductive material that wouldn't cause a spark, thereby setting off the bomb. He didn't want to kill Yuri… Okay, yes he did, but he wouldn't if it could be helped. However, that didn't seem to be the case here because the bomb was strapped to Yuri's chest and the velocity needed to penetrate the window and outer casing would virtually guarantee the death of the wearer.

To Clint, the choice was obvious. Yuri or the first responders and rescued hostages within rage of the blast. It was no contest. The only flaw in their plan was not knowing for certain if the bomb had a secondary trigger. That's where Rogers came in.

Drawing back to the anchor point, Clint AKA the Amazing Hawkeye, the man who never missed a shot, inhaled, exhaled and released.

 **TBC**


	10. Chapter 54

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ _,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora and ladygris for the brainstorming.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 54**

The arrow penetrated the casing of the bomb, and continued through, the point exiting Yuri's back between the fourth and fifth ribs.

"Ungh." He looked down at the arrow protruding from his chest. Blood exploded from his mouth, running down his chin. He coughed once, expelling more blood, and fell to the floor, knocking over a table and several chairs.

Before the arrow had left the bow, Cap was already on the move. He clapped the shield over the bomb still attached to Yuri's chest, and curled into a ball, holding it down with the weight of his body. The resulting explosion threw him and the shield out through the front window. He hit the side of one of the armored SWAT Hummers with a crash, caving it in. The windows on that side shattered, spraying chunks of glass everywhere, and sending the officers diving for cover.

Two squads of heavily armed men and women surrounded the front of the store while an EOD covered head to foot in protective gear cautiously picked his way through the debris. The man knelt down to examine the remains, and waved to indicate it was safe to approach.

First responders swarmed the area, checking on the civilians and injured police. Clint was relieved that most appeared to be minor injuries.

Natasha and Barnes arrived just ahead of Clint. Rogers was standing with Lieutenant Ang, the SWAT team leader. Relieved that this particular incident in their lives was closed, Clint held out his left hand, grinning when Natasha, Barnes, _and_ Rogers joined in for a group exploding fist bump, complete with sound effects. Ang looked at them with a strange expression, as if now, after the fact, he was questioning their sanity. Not the first time it had happened, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Ang's tech jumped down from the SWAT van carrying four small tablets. He handed them to Ang, and returned to the van. "Now comes the boring part. Reports." He handed a tablet to each of them, already cued to the correct page. "Fill them out, and return them by 0700."

All but Rogers huffed, and Clint fought a grin. "This calls for revels, as Thor would say. Who's for shawarma?"

Natasha and Rogers groaned, and Barnes looked at him with an annoyed expression. "Steve doesn't like shawarma."

"Yeah. Found that out after the invasion when Stark took us to a shawarma joint in Manhattan." Clint tapped the tablet on his palm. "New plan. In deference to those of us with super-fast metabolisms, we're going to an all-you-can-eat buffet. It has a little of everything. Chinese, Japanese, American, Mexican. And it's in walking distance."

Barnes gestured to their clothes. "We're not exactly incognito, Clint."

"I know that place." Ang took a step into their circle, a half-grin turning up one side of his mouth. "And I can help with the clothes sitch."

"Sitch?" Natasha asked.

Rolling his eyes, Ang gestured for them to follow him back to the SWAT van. "My daughter is a fan of the show _Kim Possible_." He climbed into the van, and opened a cubbyhole filled with various articles of clothing, t-shirts and sweatpants, all with the PPD logo. "Help yourself."

Holding up a pair of gray sweatpants that would barely fit his six-two frame, Rogers scoffed. "And this makes us less conspicuous, how?"

"The place you're talking about is a cop hangout. No one will look at you twice." His eyes flicked to Natasha and back. "Not at the guys, anyway."

~~O~~

Sitting between Clint and James, Natasha kept her eyes focused on the tablet, tapping out her report with her left hand while eating with the right. She looked up when James and Steve stood at the same time to go for another refill. Both men had consumed more food in the last thirty minutes than she did in a week.

When she'd taken James off the grid, at first, his appetite had been less than that of the average male for his age, height, weight, and fitness level. As the weeks went by, the amount of food he consumed had steadily increased.

Near the restaurant's register, she could see two of the staff watching, and whispering, and doing a lousy job of hiding it. Any moment now, the manager or owner would come to the table and ask them to leave. She set her fork on the edge of her plate. Without taking her eyes off the tablet, she touched Clint's hand under the table, nodding when he looked at her. He took a drink of iced tea as a ruse to check out the scene. Steve shot a glare at Clint when the archer kicked him to make him aware of the situation. While the men silently conversed, Natasha pushed back from the table. "Be right back."

Weaving her way around the tables to the register, she gave the two staff members a sunny smile. "Could I have a word with you, please? Privately."

The manager, a man in his forties with a receding hairline, nodded. "Of course, miss." He ushered her into his office and closed the door.

~~O~~

James had noticed they were being watched this last time he and Steve had gone to the buffet for another refill, and the silent camaraderie took a hit. That is until Natasha went to talk to the people staring at them.

When she came out of the office, both Natasha and the man were smiling. They shook hands, and she returned to the table. "You can relax now, boys. We're welcome to stay as long as we want."

In his capacity as their leader, Steve would want to know details. He confirmed by asking, "What did you tell them?"

"The truth. Or part of it." She picked up her fork to push the food around on her plate. "That they were hosting members of the Avengers, working undercover with the police department. They promised not to say a word. Our meals are on the house, by the way."

"That means they'll have a banner over the front door by the time they open tomorrow." Clint swirled the tea in his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side. "Think you can convince them to give us a couple of beers on the house?"

~~O~~

Sometime later, the group left the restaurant, and walked to the precinct less than a mile away to turn in their reports. They left them with the desk sergeant, and headed back to the chopper squatting on a building not far from HavenCorp.

Their first stop was to drop Natasha off at the apartment she'd used for a cover. As the chopper lifted off, Natasha waved, and James waved back. If she'd wanted him to stay, she would've said so, right? And because she didn't, he was content knowing she was safe and that Rozhenko wouldn't trouble her or Clint ever again.

He turned away from the window, unable to watch her disappear from his life only to find Clint and Steve staring at him as if he'd done something uncivilized in public.

Clint shook his head sadly. "Dude. Seriously?"

Steve snorted. "Jerk."

It didn't take long for him to realize that he'd done something incredibly stupid. The chopper had risen to about seventy feet when James made his move. He climbed over Steve to the door. They shared a glance, and both smiled.

James responded to Steve in the time honored tradition of their friendship. "Punk."

He grabbed the door handle, and James saw that Clint was still hovering low over the flat grassy area of the small park across the street from Natasha's apartment. He opened the door and jumped, landing hard on his left knee and hand. He got to his feet, and broke into a run, crossed the street, leaped over a parked car, up the outside stairs in one bound, and in through the building's front door.

Knowing Natasha would take an apartment on the highest floor, he skipped the first three, and exited the stairwell on the fourth, bursting into the hallway. He skidded to a stop at seeing her standing in there waiting for him with a knowing smile, and her left eyebrow raised.

She took his hand and led him to an apartment at the end of the hall. Inside, she didn't say a word as she removed her boots on the way to the bathroom. Standing in the doorway with one hand on the jamb, an inviting smile on her beautiful face, she lifted her chin, and James wasted no time in joining her.

They divested themselves of their clothes and stepped under the hot spray. Natasha pulled the curtain closed as James swooped in for a kiss. When the hot water ran out, James helped Natasha dry off then wrapped a towel around his waist, and followed her into the bedroom. She lifted the covers and lay down, scooting to one side so he could join her. The towel hit the floor, and soon they were cuddled together. He sensed her fatigue, and responded by turning out the light, and holding her close. Natasha fell asleep, and James joined her soon after.

~~O~~

The sun was high in the sky when Natasha awoke pressed against James' back, one leg thrown over his hip. She rubbed the bottom of her foot up and down his bare thigh, and he responded by reaching over to hold her close for a moment before rolling onto his back. He kept going until he was hovering over her, lowering his head to kiss her, soft and sweet.

There was so much she wanted to say, but that would come later. Now, she wanted _him_ , and knew he wanted _her_.

Sex first thing in the morning was the best way to wake up. Even better than caffeine, in her opinion. Morning sex was unpretentious, relaxing and slow. The dust of sleep was still in her eyes, her back arching, and a contented giggle when he touched her just so, almost toying with her. They writhed together under the covers, moaning into each other's mouths as they reached the end. Afterward, James lay next to her, holding her hand. "I missed you, _malenkaya_."

"Missed you too, _malenkii_."

The sun crept across the floor to touch the foot of the bed, making its way slowly over their legs. Birds sang, and the traffic whooshed by reminding Natasha that she still had work to do, and explanations to make to her employer. She would complete this job, and return to SHIELD, if they'd have her.

But for today, she and James would enjoy a tranquil Saturday morning. They would shower, and dress for the day, and go out for breakfast. She glanced at the clock and changed that to brunch, or even lunch.

"Natasha, we have to talk."

"Yes, we do. But not now." Rolling over on top of James, Natasha stretched out so that every inch of their bodies touched. She entwined their fingers and held his arms over his head as she kissed him so thoroughly that his body reacted immediately. And soon, they were drowning in sensation once more.

 **Mon Petite Café**

Ignoring the other patrons on the patio, James and Natasha sat close together, speaking softly in a mixture of Russian and English, talking about nothing important until they'd finished eating.

The server removed their dishes, refilled their cups, and left the check. James drained the last of the coffee from his cup and set it out of the way. Natasha paid the check, and stood, holding out her hand. He took it, and together they walked back to the apartment.

Once inside, he waited until she sat down to take a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, falling easily into their old habit. "Time for that talk."

"You want to know why I left." He nodded, urging her to continue. "My purpose in coming to you in the first place had been achieved. With the forged documents from my contact, you could go anywhere, do or be anything you wanted. After seventy years, you finally had freedom and free will again. There was no reason for me to stay except that I didn't want to leave. I also didn't want to be a crutch. You needed to be on your own, doing what _you_ wanted without having to answer to another. To make a home of your own."

James understood what she was saying, and agreed up to a point. He also knew that without her, he would never have made it this far. By the time she found him in his hideaway, he'd almost gotten to the point of just wanting it all to end. The dreams, the pain, the ghosts of past misdeeds, and especially the loneliness. When he found her standing in that room, he'd been wary of her intentions, yet relieved that he now had someone to just be there when it all became too much to bear, to teach him how to go on when he felt unable to take another step.

At times, James had wanted Natasha to go away and never come back, but it had been for _her_ protection, not because he didn't want her around. He was afraid that he would have another flashback like the one in Vermont, and instead of a black eye or being soaked to the skin, that he would do something he couldn't take back or apologize for. They were both haunted by their pasts, except that his ghosts were more terrifying than anything Natasha had ever experienced, though she would probably disagree.

Natasha got up and went to stand at the window that looked out over the rear parking lot of the building, her arms crossed, the palms rubbing up and down her biceps as if she were cold.

There was so much he wanted to say, but it all boiled down to three words. James went to stand behind Natasha. She glanced over her shoulder and back out the window. He cupped his hands around her shoulders, gently pushing on the left while drawing her right toward him, forcing her to turn. Her eyes stayed on the middle of his chest for a moment then slowly came up to meet his.

" _You're_ my home." She inhaled sharply, her eyebrows drawing downward slightly. "Don't you know? If it weren't for you, I might have put a bullet in my brain to silence the ghosts that haunted me day and night. They still haunt me, but I know, with you by my side, I'll be able to endure because I'll have you to cling to when it all becomes too much. There were times while we were together that I would've killed those chasing us if not for my promise to you." Her lips pursed, and he recognized the motion. She was trying not to smile. "You make me want to be a good man, Natasha."

His hands found her waist and pulled her close. Natasha drew the fingers of her left hand down his cheek, the tip of her forefinger touching the corner of his mouth. "You _are_ a good man, James."

He chuckled lightly, taking hold of her hand and pressing the palm to his cheek. "No, I'm not. But you're the only one who understands that."

"Steve knows. Clint. I'm sure Peggy Carter knew as well."

"Peggy only had eyes for Steve." Bucky drew her over to the sofa, holding her close. "What he doesn't know is she and I talked one night before the raid on the train."

Natasha lightly rubbed the top of his thigh. "What did she say?"

"It wasn't so much the words she used as the look in her eyes when she said his name. She wasn't the kind of woman who cared about the wrapping. The contents were what was important. With Steve, most women never saw the incredible mind that lived inside the skinny, sickly body. Maria is much like Peggy in that respect. Neither of them makes assumptions based on outward appearances."

She shifted until she could swing her legs over his lap. "What was your first impression of _me_?"

James held her in a loose hug, one hand on her waist and the other on her hip. "The two times I shot you, during our fight where you tried to strangle me or at the hospital when we escaped from the HYDRA squad?"

"We've had a lot of adventures together, haven't we?"

"At least you're not holding our past adversities against me."

Her fingers brushed through his long hair, and she smiled. "There's only one thing I'd like to hold against you."

"Yeah?"

Faster than he could react, Natasha turned until she was kneeling over his lap, both hands framing his face. "Yeah."

She pressed her lips to his, and in response, his arms tightened until he could feel every curve of her pushing at him as she breathed through their kisses. James moved around until he was on his back with Natasha lying on top of him. She separated their mouths and snuggled into him with a sigh. "Isn't there something you'd like to tell me, _malenkii_?"

Pretending to misunderstand, James said, "Can't think of anything."

She rose up on her elbows so she could see his face. "You're sure?'

James thought for a moment. "You're out of coffee?"

"That's not it. Try again."

"My birthday is March 10TH." Again, she shook her head. "We should visit Norman and Lucy."

A grin crossed Natasha's features. "Yes, we should, but I have something else in mind." Her fingers lightly touched his cheeks. "Maybe if I go first, it'll come to you." Resting his hands on her back, James gave her a smile of encouragement. "I…"

At that moment, both their phones rang. Natasha hung her head in annoyance, and climbed off him. James sat up, leaning to the side to get at the phone in his back pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he saw Steve's smiling face, and hit _answer_. "What do you _want_? We're busy… What?!"

From her tone, Natasha was speaking to Clint. "Yes? No, we were just… Say that again… Which one?"

They reached for the remote at the same time, Natasha beating him to it. She turned on the television and switched to the ZNN News channel. The news story had just restarted.

James and Natasha listened and watched, mesmerized and suddenly filled with a deeply felt concern, and not just for themselves. She hung up on Clint, and he followed her lead. Considering what had happened, James knew they'd both be forgiven.

~~O~~

The news anchor, in his forties with conventionally handsome features and short brown hair, sat behind a curved desk with a map of the world on the wall behind him that was currently obscured by a photo of a thick set of documents labeled _Sokovia Accords_ , and bearing the United Nations logo. With the utmost gravitas, he read copy from the tablet in front of him.

"… _The Sokovia Accords are a set of internationally ratified legal documents that provide regulation and frame-working for the military and law enforcement deployment of enhanced individuals, whether through natural selection, deliberate genetic manipulation or as a result of a laboratory accident, particularly the Avengers_."

A publicity photo of the Avengers swelled to fill the screen.

"… _The Accords were created by an international committee headed by US Secretary of State, Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross in order to restrict the currently unregulated operation of enhanced humans who, until now, had operated with unlimited power and no supervision. Something that Secretary Ross states can no longer be tolerated_."

The scene switched to video of Ross at a press conference, reiterating what the anchor had just said. Natasha muted the sound and tossed the remote on the coffee table muttering " _Svoloch'_ " under her breath.

"I agree. So?"

" _Pizdets_."

James turned to face her. "I don't believe in the no-win scenario any more than you do. There has to be a way around it."

Getting to her feet, Natasha paced the length of the living room, and back. "There is. I just don't know what it is yet."

"I won't sign. Neither will Steve."

"Or Clint."

She stopped to stare at the wall as if it had the answers. The sofa creaked and James came to wrap her in his arms. "I get the feeling he's always been a rebel, a non-conformist." He rubbed his cheek against hers. "You haven't been enhanced, nor are you an Inhuman. And you haven't been in a lab accident lately. Why would you have to sign?"

Smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands, Natasha thought about how best to put what she had to say. _Just say it, Romanoff_. "You know I love you, right?"

His smile pressed to her cheek. "Yes. But it's nice to finally hear it out loud."

"And you trust me."

"Of course."

He said it without hesitating, making this even more difficult. "I told you about the Red Room, the training I received there." His arms stiffened then he slowly withdrew. Without being asked, James went to sit on the sofa, his eyes on her face, waiting expectantly. "Of the twenty-eight recruits, those that showed exceptional skill were given biochemical enhancements, though not on the same scale as you and Steve. In my group, I was one of four chosen to receive the treatments." She smiled without humor. "Without it, I might not have lived through the invasion or the fight with Ultron."

It unnerved Natasha the way James just watched her without blinking as she moved about the room, unable to stand still. "In addition to the enhancements, some of us were implanted with false memories. I was once made to believe that I was a prima ballerina with the Bolshoi Theater in Moscow, and that my husband had been murdered. It was done to give me a reason to exact revenge on those I believed had killed him.

"I broke from the program when I discovered what they'd done. After that, I didn't care who I worked for, as long as I got paid. Clint and I met several years later when Director Fury sent him to assassinate me.

"What you don't know is there are only two Black Widows left. Myself and a woman who used to go by the name Yelena Belova. Believe it or not, she was even more amoral than I. After I'd defected to the US, Yelena attempted to eliminate me in order to assert herself as the only Black Widow.

"What Clint did for me, I did for her. I encouraged her to find out what made her unique, and to discover her personal identity instead of blindly following her handler's instructions. Not long after, she retired to Cuba, where she became a successful businesswoman. There are rumors that she died two years ago, but the Cuban government, as usual, won't confirm or deny."

All during her cold recitation of her life, James had barely moved except to follow her movements. His expression was enigmatic as he digested the information. Without a word, he went to the window and looked out.

After a while, Natasha touched him on the shoulder, and he faced her once more, lightly gripping her biceps before sliding down to take hold of her hands. "As difficult as it was to endure, I'm glad you did or we would never have met, and I wouldn't have fallen in love with you."

He dropped his eyes for a moment, silencing her with a shake of his head when she started to speak. "There's something you should know, that I've only just remembered." Natasha gave him a questioning look, tightening her hold on his hands. James inhaled deeply, and slowly let it out. "Yelena Belova is still alive."

 **TBC**

 _Kim Possible_ is an American animated television series created by Bob Schooley and Mark McCorkle for Disney Channel. It centers on Kim Possible, a teenage crime-fighter who has the task of dealing with worldwide, family, and school issues every day. The show is action-oriented, but also has a light-hearted atmosphere and often lampoons the conventions and clichés of the secret-agent and action genres. It aired from 2002-2007, and is available on DVD.

Yelena Belova is a fictional character, a spy in the Marvel Comics Universe and the second modern-era character to use the name Black Widow. She first appears in _Inhumans_ #5, March 1999, and was created by Devin Grayson and J. G. Jones.

Yelena Belova is an amoral spy and assassin who was trained at the Red Room by the same spymasters who trained Natasha Romanoff, the first Black Widow.

Russian:

 _Svoloch_ = B*****d

 _Pizdets_ = A really bad situation without any solution


	11. Chapter 55

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora, ladygris and CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for their input and opinions.

If I've missed clearing up a loose thread, PM me and I'll get out my scissors. Likewise, if you have a storyline you want to see expanded on, or characters you'd like to see return, please let me know.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 55**

 **Vesuvius Italian Restaurant**

Dinner was fabulous, some of the best Italian Maria had tasted in some time. Dessert and coffee afterwards put her close to nirvana. Dancing was enjoyable, as always. The drive down to the pier even more so. In fact, the entire evening had been filled with romance, and wonder, and just a little confusion. It wasn't her birthday, nor Steve's. The date wasn't anything special. Just another set of numbers on the calendar marking their time on earth.

They still hadn't found a place in Brooklyn. Not a problem because they'd only been looking a short time. Though now that Maria thought about it, the brownstone with the questionable provenance was in the right area. And the price was right as well, as long as they combined their salaries. They could turn the top two floors into apartments, and include kitchen and laundry privileges for their tenants. The first floor would be renovated as their living area.

Steve parked the car, and they sat there staring at the rain that had started falling just as they turned into the lot. He gripped the steering wheel, huffing in frustration.

Maria took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's not a big deal. We can come another time."

He inhaled deeply, and let it out. "It _is_ a big deal. All my plans just went to hell."

 _Plans?_ "Let's just go back to the base, Steve."

He turned to look at her, his eyes roaming over her features. Then he shook his head. "No. It has to be tonight. I promised your dad." Steve unbuckled his seatbelt, and removed his suit jacket and tie, tossing both in the back seat. His shoes followed, as did his socks. He rolled up his pants legs, turning a wry smile on her. "It's actually kind of fitting."

Before Maria could say another word, Steve opened the door and jumped out, slamming it behind him. A moment later, he opened her door, and held out his hand. "Come with me."

She opened her mouth to refuse then changed her mind at the look on his face. Her seatbelt came off, and so did her heels. She stepped out of the car, and Steve immediately picked her up. Her arms went around his neck, and she turned her face to avoid the rain. It didn't work. "What's going on, Steve?"

"You'll see." Steve picked his way through the grass to the boardwalk, and put her down. Taking her hand, he urged her to run with him to the end of the pier. Thankfully, there was a covered area under which they could take refuge. "Reminds me of our first dance."

Maria smiled in remembrance. "Of equal, if not more importance, _I_ got a foot rub out of it."

"That was the night I realized I loved you." There was a bench, and Steve invited her to sit, so she did. He reached into his pocket and took out a small box. "While we were in Chicago, I had a long talk with Bob."

"Oh?" She was immediately suspicious.

Steve paced as much as he could under the shelter. "Set him straight about a few things. About your ability to take care of yourself, and how you saved my life, and those of millions of innocent people. He, uh, was quite impressed."

"You must've done a good job. He's not easily dazzled by anyone's accomplishments but his own." Maria was patient for the next item on the list of things he'd talked to her dad about, and was rewarded.

Steve opened the box. "During our talk, I asked him an important question, and he agreed, or we wouldn't be here." He got down on one knee, the box turned so she could see the simple, yet elegant square cut diamond atop a smooth circle of yellow gold. "I asked for your hand in marriage." The ring looked small held between his thumb and forefinger. "I once told you I was saving the big speech for later. Then I realized that it all came down to two sentences." Stunned, Maria didn't resist when he gently lifted her left hand from where it rested on her thigh. "I love you, Maria Hill. Will you do me the great honor of marrying me?"

Her eyes wide, Maria curled her free hand into a ball, the nails digging into the material of her dress. She opened her mouth, shut it again, and finally took a breath. "Steve…"

 **Phoenix**

 **The Next Morning**

"Yelena's alive? Are you sure?" Natasha went into the bedroom and came out with her laptop already booting up. She set it on the coffee table and James joined her with bottles of water.

"Not really. No. It's a vague memory, like overhearing a conversation from another room. They always talked in front of me as if I weren't there, or couldn't understand. One of the times I was taken out of cryosleep, I heard doctors discussing her while they prepped me for a mission."

Natasha tapped out a message to Hill, and sat back to wait for a response. "What do you remember?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Said she agreed to the experiments hoping to exact revenge on those she held responsible, but I don't know what for."

"So she was given more autonomy than you were."

"Yes. But…"

The computer beeped, and Natasha activated Skype. "That was quick, Hill. What did you find?"

Hill's unreadable mask had been put to the side, and one filled with repugnance, disgust and hostility, but not for either of them. " _Yelena Belova was severely injured in a fire at her home in Santa Cruz del Norte, Cuba. Though it was never proven, Belova and the authorities believe it was deliberately set by a business rival, Federico Amador. That may be true, but there's more than a hint of reasonable doubt that he was the instigator_."

James kept quiet and let the women talk. He'd learn more that way. Just like with HYDRA.

"Because?"

One side of Hill's mouth turned up. " _Because Amador was killed in a single car accident not ten days later._ " A photo of a white and red car smashed on the rocks below a high cliff appeared on the screen. " _This is what Amador's '57 Ford Fairlane looked like when the_ policía _arrived on the scene at La Guira National Park in La Palma._ "

Natasha sipped from her water bottle and set it aside. "What makes you think it wasn't an accident? Aside from your naturally suspicious nature, I mean."

" _Señor_ _Amador only drove that vehicle on the first Sunday of each month, and the accident occurred on a Wednesday_." She consulted the tablet in front of her. " _HYDRA offered Belova the chance for revenge by allowing herself to be genetically altered. However, there was a side effect that the doctors hadn't anticipated_."

James twisted the water bottle, a nervous habit he'd just started.

" _In addition to curing the disfigurement, it also allowed Yelena to absorb another's powers_ _. They discovered this after her encounter with a group of Inhumans. In their excitement, HYDRA planned to send her after SHIELD in order to eliminate them as a threat. Belova, or rather the thing she'd become, turned on her captors. They were able to stop her by tricking her into using all her powers at once to overloaded her reserves. While she was unconscious, she was put in cryosleep._ "

Out of the camera's sight, Natasha grabbed James' hand. "Why didn't they just kill her?"

One of Hill's shoulders twitched in a shrug. " _Unknown. According the information mined from HYDRA's files, she's being kept in a facility in the Antarctic. I'm bringing the info to the director. We should know how the situation will be handled soon. I'll get back to you when I have more._ "

Hill reached out to shut off the computer, and James saw the sparkle of a diamond on her left hand just before the screen went dark. He shared a glance with Natasha, and she grinned knowingly. "Guess Rogers finally decided to up the ante. They both did or she wouldn't be wearing the ring on her left hand."

"What do you mean?"

"If a woman accepts the ring, but wants to think about it, she wears it on her right hand until she decides." Natasha closed the laptop and laid her hand on his thigh. "You're going to be his best man, of course."

James made a non-committal sound. "I'm curious. Why doesn't anyone refer to the director by name?"

Natasha let out a long huff of frustration. "Because only a select few know the director's identity, and Hill doesn't share." She took a long drink of water, and handed him the bottle to finish off. "It was Fury's call."

~~O~~

A mischievous glint that Natasha recognized appeared in James' blue eyes reflecting the one in hers. "If _she_ knows, then it stands to reason…"

"That Steve knows too." Taking out her phone, Natasha scrolled for Steve's number. With her thumb poised over the dial icon, she hesitated. "He'd be more likely to tell us in person, agreed?"

James pulled her onto his lap, took the phone from her and laid it on the coffee table. "You read my mind, _malenkaya_."

"We should confront him in person then." She framed his face with her palms and leaned in for a long kiss that gained heat and momentum. One hand dropped down to grab at his shirt, pulling it up so she could reach inside and touch his skin.

He stopped her by sliding one hand under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her high as he got to his feet and headed for the bedroom. "Later. You have employers to appease."

Natasha attacked his mouth once more. Eventually, she backed off just enough to gasp out, "Monday. I'll do it Monday."

Her heart skipped a beat at his affectionate smile. "I have an idea how to spend our time between now and then."

"Mmm. Now _you're_ reading _my_ mind, _malenkii_." She kissed him again as he kicked the bedroom door shut.

~~O~~

Much later, James and Natasha lay snuggled together under the covers. His strong and calloused hand lightly trailed up and down her ribs over the t-shirt she wore. Her breathing evened out, and her muscles went slack as she drifted off to sleep. And though he was tired as well, James stayed awake to watch her sleep, and think about all the changes to his life in that last twenty-four hours.

Clint, Steve and he had saved Natasha's life, they eliminated a despicable example of the human species, Natasha finally admitted that she loved him, and his best friend was getting married. And he was free to do whatever he wanted. Be whoever he wanted to be. At this moment, all he wanted to be was the man Natasha loved. _Mission accomplished_.

~~O~~

Monday morning arrived bright and sunny. James sipped coffee on the patio while Natasha was in the bedroom getting into character, as she called it. The door opened and he turned around, unprepared for the drastic change in her appearance. She seldom dressed seductively, but now… He wouldn't have looked at her twice if they met on the street.

Gone was the bewitching auburn hair he'd fantasized about running his fingers through. Instead, she had plain brown hair held back in a ponytail. Her clothing was modest, the skirt ending at mid-calf. The top covered every inch of her from neck to waist, and was long sleeved. The black flats made her appear even shorter than she was, and the only make-up she wore was on her lips, just a light layer of gloss that had no scent.

"What do you think?"

"It's okay, but I prefer what you wear to avenge."

Natasha moved in close to poke him in the chest. "You prefer that I wear nothing at all."

"True."

They kissed, and before he could take it further, she took the coffee cup, moved out of reach, picked up an oversized purse with a long strap, and went to the door. "I'll be done by noon. I've left a short list of things I need you to do for me, if you would, and some cash to do them. We'll leave this afternoon, if that's okay with you."

James followed her out into the hall. "I get clothes while I'm out. Can't run around dressed like this." He gestured at the sweatpants and t-shirt Lieutenant Ang had given them.

One side of her mouth turned up. "Read the list, _malenkii_. Bye."

The stairwell door closed behind her, and James went back inside, curious about what she meant. He found the list on the bedside table with a stack of cash. Way more than he would need to do a few simple errands. Then he read the list.

 _Call Norman_

 _Buy clothes_

 _Noon in front of HavenCorp_

After a hot shower, James wrapped a towel around his waist, and stood in front of the mirror, turning is head side to side. Natasha had spent many months helping him remember how to make his own choices again. He hadn't shaved or cut his hair because he thought she preferred him the way he was when she found him. Now it was time to do what made _him_ happy, because doing so would make Natasha happy.

He combed his hair, tossed the towel over the bar to dry, and padded into the bedroom to get dressed.

 **HavenCorp**

 **Noon**

The head of security walked Natasha to the door, they shook hands, and parted company. On the way out, she ducked into the bathroom to change. She shoved the clothes into the enormous bag she carried, and left by the front entrance wearing slim fitting black pants, a black tank top, brown ankle boots, and a brown leather jacket left open.

James was leaning against a lamp post, arms crossed, and a smile of greeting on his clean shaven face. The whole time they were together, he wore what she bought him, giving no opinion for or against her choices.

He wore black boots, dark blue jeans that surrounded his thighs and hips as though made to his specific measurements. Underneath his black leather jacket, he wore a black and grey stone washed long sleeved shirt with four buttons, the first three undone. A small tuft of black chest hair peeked out over a white t-shirt. The biggest change was the hair. While not military short, nearly four inches had been cut off. His hair now only came down to his earlobes. Instead of a part in the middle, it had been combed straight back so that it parted naturally on the left, the longer strands flopping over to cover the upper curve of his ears. His blue eyes were obscured by a pair of black-framed sunglasses.

Pushing off the pole, he uncrossed his arms, and used one finger to pull the glasses down so he could look over the top, the left eyebrow raised, then pushed them back up. "What d'you think?"

Natasha reached up to give him a kiss, her hands on his waist. His arms pulled her close, but not too much so. They parted, and she smiled. "Very handsome. If you're pleased with this look, then so am I."

She looked past him to the boarded up storefront of the coffee shop and day care, and James turned to look as well, glad that the damage hadn't been worse, and the only loss of life had been Rozhenko. "I'm starving. Let's get lunch. We'll go back to the apartment for our things, drop off the keys, and head back to D.C. after we eat. You called Norman?"

James put his arm around her shoulders, and hers snaked around his waist as she turned them toward the parking garage on the corner.

"He's expecting us by Wednesday, so we can take our time." He followed her up to the top parking level. "Do you think Lucy will remember me?"

Using the key fob, Natasha unlocked the doors. "Don't know much about cats. Never had a pet before or after the Red Room. You?"

"Not that I remember. I think one of my sisters was allergic."

"Too bad. At least you're not." They got in, buckled up, Natasha started the engine, and made her way down to street level. "Would you like to have a cat or dog?"

He thought it over. "A cat, I think. The first few nights at Norman's, I didn't want to sleep. I was afraid I'd wake up to find that my freedom was just a dream. That I was still a prisoner of HYDRA. Then Lucy found me in the back yard. Almost every night, she would somehow get into my room, and into the bed with me. That sound cats make…"

"Purring."

Taking a deep breath, James turned sideways with his left arm over the back of the seat. "It was… soothing. I would lie there with her on my chest or next to me, and soon, I'd be asleep."

A wry smile turned up one side of her mouth. "Clint says that's called a sleep bomb. Never tried it before."

She felt a small thrill when James ran a finger lightly over her shoulder, down her bicep and up to play with her hair. "We'll try it together. Norman will probably want us to stay at least a couple of nights."

"He's a sweet old man. There's nothing in your file that says your family was Jewish. How did you meet?"

James faced front again. "After the helicarrier crashed, and I dragged Steve to shore, I hid in an abandoned warehouse. In the morning, I stole clothes, and wandered around until I saw what looked like a church. Norman was in the chapel. At that time, I didn't see myself as Bucky _or_ James, but I had to give him a name, so I went with James Barnes. He took me in, fed me, gave me clean clothes. To repay him, I helped out around the place, listened when he did a dry run of his sermons."

Natasha signaled a left turn into the parking lot of the apartments. "Then you took off for Brooklyn where I found you at the hospital."

James put his arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the building, pulling her close so he could brush a kiss on her temple. "For which I'll be forever grateful."

They separated, and he followed her up the stairs. As they approached the apartment, James pulled her to a stop, a finger to his lips. "Someone's inside."

~~O~~

Seeing the door was ajar, James exchanged a look with Natasha, counted to three, and kicked the door open, already through before it hit the wall. Natasha was barley a step behind, a Makarov aimed at the intruder.

When she relaxed, James did as well. He tensed up again when the toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened. The man grinned while drying his hands on a towel. "Didn't know we were getting a floor show, Wilson."

Sam removed his sunglasses, and hung them from his jacket pocket. "Is this how you usually treat guests?"

Natasha put the safety on, and placed the weapon on the bar counter between the kitchen and the dining room. "Guests wait to be invited, guys. They don't commit burglary."

Clint dropped onto the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. "Burglary involves trespassing with the intent to commit a crime. We let ourselves in so the neighbors wouldn't call the cops. That's hardly a crime."

She snorted at her best friend, and James asked, "Why are you here, Clint?"

He got to his feet, drawing her into the kitchen for a private talk. "Good news, bad news."

"The good news?"

"Dooney and Kiba are getting married."

Grinning, Natasha gave Clint's hand a squeeze. "When?"

"That brings us to the bad news." He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and staring at his feet. "Laura has to have a partial hysterectomy next week. When she's recuperated, we're having the wedding at the farm. Just family and a few close friends."

"That's great about Dooney and Kiba. Not so much Laura. And not unexpected considering the last couple of years. But she's strong and healthy."

Clint looked like he wanted to pace, but the kitchen was too small. He settled for rubbing the back of his head. "I know. It's just… I'd feel better about it if Cho could check her out."

"That would mean letting one more person in on your secret. Are you prepared for that?"

"You mean do I want Helen Cho to know the reason I've turned down all of her not-so-subtle dinner and drink invitations because I'm married with three kids?" He shifted his feet and pushed a hand through his hair making it stand up. "If it means that Laura will get the best medical care in the world, yes. Absolutely."

Natasha gave his hand a squeeze. "I can approach Cho, if you want. Lay the groundwork. Tell her Laura's a friend. You don't even have to be involved." She waited while he thought it over. "Laura will understand. And I'll stay with her the whole time."

Clint wavered then reluctantly nodded. "I'll see what she says." He turned to go, stopping in the doorway. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

~~O~~

"Will Clint's wife be okay?"

Natasha sat down next to James, one leg tucked under. "I'm sure she will. And it'll only delay our trip to see Norman a couple of days.

"I called to let him know we'd be there Friday instead of Wednesday," James informed Natasha with a sigh. "I want to meet Clint's family, but…"

"You're wondering what they'll think of you and your past, how they'll treat you." She turned sideways, one hand touching his cheek. "We've been over this, James. No one holds you responsible for the things you did while under HYDRA's control. And the kids will love you as much as I do."

He placed his metal hand over hers, curling the fingers into her palm. "And what about this?"

"Won't make any difference, _malenkii_. They'll be curious at first, of course. After the novelty wears off, you'll be treated like any other member of the family." She chuckled. "They'll probably think it's cool, and want you to do tricks."

Leaning close, he put his mouth close to her ear, his right arm sliding around her waist. "Say that again."

"Which part?"

"About loving me."

Pulling back so she could look him in the eyes, Natasha whispered, " _Ya tebya lyublyu_."

 **Helen Cho's Lab**

 **Two Days Later**

The sun had barely begun to show itself when the women stepped out of the elevator into a long tiled corridor with windows and security scanners next to the doors. The only room occupied at the moment was the lab on the right. Natasha tapped on the window, and waved to Cho, who motioned her in.

Natasha went through the security procedure, and ushered Laura inside. "Dr. Helen Cho, this is my friend Laura Hagen."

Cho looked up just long enough to see Laura's face then turned back to her computer without offering to shake hands. "I've been going over your medical records, Ms. Hagen, and I'm pretty sure we can help you." She motioned to one of her assistants. "Pallie will take you to your room where you can change into a gown. Dr. Rivas!" A dark-skinned man stepped forward. He was young, around Cho's age or a little younger, not as tall, with dark brown hair and eyes. "Dr. Rivas will examine you, just to verify all of your doctor's findings, before we make a decision on treatment. Unless you'd prefer a female doctor."

"I'm not choosy."

Laura looked at Natasha, and she gave her a confident smile. "I'll be close by. Just like I promised."

"Thanks, Nat."

In the hospital room, Natasha flicked her eyes around letting Laura know they were being monitored. "I know Cho is a bit brusque sometimes, but she's the best at what she does. My best friend was shot, and she took care of him. The shot was through and through, so there was no invasive surgery involved."

"Will it be the same for me?"

"Perhaps. Let Rivas do the examination then see what Cho and her team say."

Pallie stood by the door. "Take off everything, clothes, watch, jewelry. Even your wedding ring, and put on one of the gowns in the drawer. Use the intercom when you're ready. You haven't eaten anything today, have you?"

Laura shook her head as she took off her jacket and tossed it on the bed. "No. Not since dinner last night. And only water to drink since midnight."

"Good. While you're in the bathroom, give us a urine sample. The cups and instructions are on the wall."

The door closed behind Pallie, leaving Natasha alone with Laura. "I'll wait outside." Again she gripped her friend's hand. "It'll all be over soon."

Laura crossed her fingers. "I hope."

 **Later That Night**

Cho came into the room, her eyes glued to a tablet, yet somehow managed not to run into anything.

Sitting up in bed, Laura clasped her hands together on top of the covers. "What's the verdict, doctor?"

"All of our tests have confirmed your doctor's original diagnosis." The geneticist finally looked up. "The good news is we can enhance the structure of your uterus so that it won't have to come out."

"And the bad?"

"It will be an inert organ, incapable of sustaining a viable fetus during the gestation period."

Relieved, Laura let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Though she hadn't said a word, Natasha was at her side, providing a calm presence of support. "That's not a problem, doctor. My husband and I weren't planning on having another child."

"I see. Your ovaries are still in good condition, though there is the possibility that the treatment may send you into premature menopause. If that happens, we could attempt a similar treatment that would allow the ovaries to continue to produce hormones naturally. That way, you won't have to take replacement therapy." For the first time, Cho smiled, and it changed everything about her, making her seem younger, and more approachable. "If you agree, Pallie will have you fill out the forms, and sign all the necessary documents, including a non-disclosure agreement."

"I'm ready when you are."

"This will take an entire day. But don't worry. We'll start after breakfast, and take a break every hour or so. Dinner has been ordered for you and Agent Romanoff. If you need it, Pallie will bring you something to help you sleep."

With that, Cho turned and left the room.

Natasha paced to the end of the bed. "Sure you want to do this? It's not too late to say no."

"You trust her, so I do too."

Behind her words, Laura knew Natasha understood what she couldn't say. "I'm going to make a phone call, and be back before dinner arrives."

 **The Next Day**

The machine looked like an exam bed with a curved bar over it. Tracks down both sides allowed the bar to move so that the beam could be focused on any part of the body.

Laura lay on her back with her lower abdomen exposed. As the blue white light played over her skin, her eyes kept darting around the room, taking in the futuristic-looking equipment. Natasha didn't know what most of it did. Laura couldn't possibly understand it all herself.

Natasha admired Clint's wife and her ability to be so calm, and trusting in the face of her medical condition, and the fact that soon, she would be cured almost as if by magic. They both knew that was ridiculous. Clarke's third law summed it up perfectly: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

It was science, not supernatural. Just because Natasha and Laura, and most of the world, didn't understand it didn't mean squat. The last time Natasha watched the machine do its job, Cho was healing the wound Clint sustained while going up against Von Strucker and his minions. Quicksilver's interference had caused Clint to be shot, though Natasha was certain that hadn't been the boy's plan. When the Maximoff twins joined forces with the Avengers to defeat Ultron, she'd gotten to know them a little better. And in the end, Pietro had given his life for Clint and the boy.

There was a commotion in the hall, but before Natasha could investigate, Clint burst into the room, his eyes desperately searching. He saw her and rushed to her side. "Nat where's…"

"What's going on?" Cho demanded in that firm, yet almost little girl voice. "We're in the middle of something, Agent Barton." She waved to the guards. "Show him out."

Two armed guards glared at Clint, but didn't move to take him away. Both knew his reputation, and didn't want to tangle with him. Not here where the possibility existed that they would damage delicate and irreplaceable medical equipment.

"I'm not leaving." His voice was low and dangerous, daring the guards to try something.

Natasha flashed her SHIELD badge identifying her as a senior agent with a level eight clearance, same as Clint, Steve, and the rest of the Avengers. "I'm going to have to ask you boys to step outside."

They shared a look with Cho, who reluctantly nodded. Going to the computer, Natasha turned off the audio and video feeds. What was coming wasn't for everyone's ears.

Laura surprised them by calling to him. "Stand down, Hawkeye."

She reached out, and he came to her, holding her hand and stroking her hair. He glanced at Cho, who was obviously confused, at Natasha, and back to Laura. "I couldn't let you go through this alone, honey."

"Ms. Hagen, you must remain _still_ while the cradle does its work."

"Sorry, Dr. Cho." Clint kissed Laura's forehead, and she smiled with affection. "Who's with the kids?"

For one of the few times since she and Clint met, he seemed embarrassed, giving all three women a sheepish grin. "Mary Ellen had to go out of town, so I called a friend to stay with them."

Laura's expression changed to something close to fear. "Don't say it. _Please_ don't say it."

Clint rushed to reassure her. "It won't be like last time, honey. Promise."

"That's what you said the time before that. Remember what happened?"

"Yeah." He flashed that charming and pride-filled smile Natasha had first seen the day they met. "It's not just Stark. He has Rogers and Hill helping out. And you know how good Rogers is with the kids. Stark too."

Butting into their conversation, Natasha grinned. "That's because Stark has the mentality of a child."

Laura's mouth dropped open, and closed with a snap. She was beaten and knew it. There was also nothing she could do about it under the current circumstances.

Cho moved to the other side of the cradle, and in the scientist's eyes, Natasha could see the she'd come to the correct conclusion, but needed verbal confirmation. "Will someone please tell me what's going on? Why are you here, Agent Barton? What kids are you talking about?"

Clint nodded to Laura, and she reached up to touch his cheek. He covered that hand with his own. "The kids are ours. Laura's my wife."

 **TBC**


	12. Chapter 56

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to possible events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora, ladygris and CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for their input and opinions.

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 56**

" _Wife?_ " The word popped out of Helen's mouth before she could stop it, deepening her discomfort. "I didn't know you were married, Agent Barton."

"When I came to work for SHIELD, it was set up so it didn't appear in the records." Natasha brought him a chair. He scooted it close to the table, and sat down.

Taking refuge in work to hide her discomfort, Helen made adjustments to the cradle, and turned away to make notes on the computer. "Should I correct your name in our records, Ms. Hagen? I mean Barton."

"Barton would draw unwanted attention, and Hagen is my maiden name."

"Of course." Clasping her hands in front of her, Helen breathed through her lingering chagrin. "Hagen? I've heard that name before."

Turning a sheepish grin on her, Clint shrugged. "Yeah. Dooney-Duane Nelson-is Laura's brother."

"Half-brother. Same father, different mother."

"I see. So far, everything is proceeding according to the models. I'm going to my office. The program will run another fifteen minutes, and automatically shut off. After that, you'll need to remain in the prone position for at least ten minutes before moving around. I'll be back before then."

As she passed, Clint touched her on the arm. "Thanks again, doc."

Helen nodded and made her escape. She dropped into her office chair, feeling like a fool for all the times she'd asked Clint out to dinner. In all this time, the talk among the staff was that he just didn't date co-workers. Some thought he was gay, though she gave that rumor no credence because she'd seen the way he looked at some of the more attractive female agents, especially Natasha. At one time there had been talk that the partners had a non-platonic relationship, something which no one was able to provide proof of aside from their obvious rapport. Eventually, the rumors stopped, and the staff just accepted that the partners were close.

The first time she and Clint worked together had been on a project where he'd been assigned as her protection. She knew he found her attractive. It was in the way he'd checked her out when he thought she wasn't looking. Men looked at her like that all the time, many thinking she would be an easy mark because of outdated ideas they had regarding scientists and their lack of social skills. Hers were just fine, thank you very much. Just because most of her nights were filled with work didn't mean she lacked for offers. She just wasn't ready to be out there again. Not after losing Bruce so recently. She missed him, and not just because they'd been seeing each other. They had been friends for a long time before becoming more. Rumors abounded regarding his fate when the quinjet vanished. One such was that he'd somehow been transported off Earth, but to where, no one knew, or they weren't saying, and she refused to entertain the idea that he was dead.

"Knock, knock."

Clint stood in the doorway rubbing his hands together, a sheepish yet determined expression covering his features. "Please come in, Agent Barton."

His smile changed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. "Only if you call me Clint from now on, Helen."

"Of course. What can I do for you?"

He took just enough steps to bring him close to the desk, one hip resting on the corner. "Accept my apology."

Now Helen was confused. "For?"

"For not telling you about Laura and the kids earlier. Anyone working for SHIELD already has a target on their back. If our enemies found out about my family…"

"Understood. An apology isn't necessary, Clint. Or rather I'm the one who should…"

He cut her off by standing. "Let's just start over, okay?" Clint put out his hand. "Senior Agent Clint Barton. Also known as Hawkeye. Level eight."

After a short pause, Helen stood, and took his hand. "Dr. Helen Cho, geneticist. Level, um, genius?"

Clint chuckled, and resumed his seat on the corner of her desk. "I'm really sorry about Banner. We've been looking for him since Sokovia. I'm sure he's alive. We just don't know where."

"Thank you. Every day, I check my messages and email for something, anything that will tell me he's okay. Even if he chooses not to come back, it would be easier just knowing."

His smile of understanding said more than words could. At the door, he stopped with one hand on the doorjamb. "For what it's worth, Helen, if I hadn't been married, I would've said yes to dinner, though not right away."

"Why?"

"Playing hard to get." She blinked at him, and he grinned sheepishly in response. "Wouldn't want you to think I was _easy_."

The computer beeped, and Helen slipped back into scientist mode. "She's ready to take a break. It's important for her to get exercise and to stay hydrated, so take her for a walk, get her something drink, preferably an electrolyte-enriched drink."

"Got it. Thanks again, doc."

With the use of his preferred nickname for her and Bruce, Helen and Clint went back to their former roles of doctor and spouse of patient.

~~O~~

On day two, Laura was taken for testing that would've done NASA proud. By early evening, Helen had released her to go home with instructions to take it easy for the next two weeks. No heavy lifting, no excessive bending at the waist, and to abstain from caffeine, alcohol, and sex, at least until her follow-up. Walking, but no more than a mile a day, drink lots of water and the sports drinks, and call if she experienced any of the symptoms on the list she provided to Clint.

Her husband was the kindest, sweetest man she knew, having taken on the burden of caring for their children when she began experiencing problems with her cycle. Now, she wouldn't have a cycle anymore. And as she'd been advised not to get pregnant again, it wasn't a problem. Too bad it happened _after_ Clint had gotten a vasectomy instead of before. At least he wasn't complaining.

On the way home, they dropped Natasha at her apartment in D.C. A ruggedly handsome man who could only have been James gave her a passionate greeting as the quinjet took off again. Natasha had finally admitted that she loved and wanted to be with James, and Laura could see that she was finally happy.

Laura relaxed in one of the jump seats, closed her eyes and dozed off until the ship landed. The kids ran out to greet her and Clint as they walked from the landing site behind a grove of trees. Cooper carried Nathan, and Lila ran ahead, wrapping her arms around Laura's legs.

She hugged the kids then looked around, not seeing their caretakers. "Where're Tony, Steve and Maria? They're supposed to be watching you."

"Inside. We played video games, and did science experiments with Mr. Stark. Those were _cool_."

Clint took Nathan from his older brother, immediately suspicious. "What _kind_ of experiments?"

Lila held Laura's hand, and pulled her toward the house. "Come see. We're havin' a tea party, with cookies and real tea! Maria made all of it, and Nathan ate a cookie all by hisself."

Glaring at Clint, Laura dreaded what she would see, but to her surprise, the house wasn't the disaster area she expected. Not like the last time Tony had taken on babysitting duty and had left a crater a hundred yards from the house and barn, which they eventually turned into a pond. They followed the sound of voices through the kitchen, staring open-mouthed at the scene.

Maria, Steve and Tony were sitting in the middle of the living room floor, drinking from Lila's plastic tea cups, and eating cookies, surrounded by stuffed animals, dolls, and Cooper's action figures. And that wasn't all. The three adults also had ribbons, bows and plastic barrettes in their hair. Tony even had a few in his beard. Maria somehow made the silliness look elegant.

Tony dunked a cookie and took a huge bite, just now noticing their charges' parents had come inside. He waved with the hand holding the cookie while Steve got to his feet. "Welcome back. How did it go?"

Clint put Nathan in the playpen, and Laura's bag on the sofa. "She was a model patient."

Laura smiled indulgently. "What Clint means is it went very well. I have to take it easy for the next couple of weeks. After that, we'll see." She sniffed the air. "What's cooking? Smells great."

Maria scrambled to her feet. Now they could see she was wearing an apron. "Dinner. Didn't think either of you would feel like slaving over a hot stove when you got home."

Lila tugged on Laura's shirt tail. "She let me help."

"It's just potato soup with ham and carrots, and a salad." Maria spoke over her shoulder as she ducked into the kitchen. They heard the clatter of the crock pot lid coming off.

Steve glowed with pride in his fiancée. "Maria's a wonderful cook."

Grunting as he got to his feet, Tony touched the ribbons in his hair. "Capsicle is prejudiced in favor of Hill's culinary skills. Personally, I found them barely adequate."

From the kitchen, Maria yelled out, " _Then why did you eat three servings of my chicken and dumplings last night, Stark?_ "

Unashamed, the billionaire shrugged one shoulder. "To provide encouragement for the mini-Bartons." He roamed over to look out the window. "Didn't bring Romanoff and her squeeze?"

"Not this time," Clint said as he went to set the table. "They'll probably show up for the next big family get-together."

Nathan began to fuss, and Steve rushed to pick him up, automatically checking his diaper, talking as he went into the combined craft and laundry room where Clint and Laura kept a crib and changing table. " _Not sure if Bucky's ready for that. Natasha'll let us know. When is it, by the way?_ "

"July fourth. Just family and a few close friends," Laura told them as she settled on the sofa.

Clint added, "There's talk of cake and gifts."

From the other room, Steve huffed, and a moment later, he came back with Nathan who was chewing on a rubber teething ring. "Please tell me it's not a birthday party _._ "

"Maybe," Tony replied. "And maybe we're just celebrating our country's independence."

In spite of the attempt to make their conversation light-hearted, Laura could sense an undertone of animosity, as though there had been an argument that had been tabled for the sake of the children.

Tony's phone rang, and he stepped out onto the porch to answer it. He was back in a couple of minutes. "I'd love to stay for dinner, but New York beckons me home." He smiled at Laura. "Glad you're feeling better. Have Legolas shoot me an email to firm up plans for the soirée."

"Will do, Tony." She gripped his hand for a moment. "Thanks for everything."

He waved away her appreciation. "Call anytime the Barton family needs a babysitter."

Lila came to give him a hug, and, he and Cooper did a fist bump. "Can we do more experiments the next time you're here, Mr. Stark?"

"I'd be insulted if you hadn't asked, Coop." Tony's stern expression softened as he took Nathan from Steve. "You behave for the parental units, little man." The baby hugged him around the neck, and Clint was there to take possession again. Tony saluted, and was gone. Soon, they heard the distinctive sound of the Iron Man suit taking off.

Laura went into the kitchen to speak to Maria, not surprised to see she had the two biggest crockpots going. Steve could probably eat the contents of one by himself. Keeping her voice low, she poked a thumb over her shoulder. "What's going on between Tony and Steve? I sensed a little tension there."

Maria gave each crockpot one last stir then took the salad bowl from the refrigerator, and carried it to the table. "You've heard of the Sokovia Accords?" At Laura's nod, she continued. "Tony and Steve have very different opinions on the merits of such a document. They got into it, and I sent them outside so they wouldn't scare the kids."

"Clint told me. He's siding with Steve on that issue. I'm surprised that Tony agreed to stay with the kids knowing he'd be here."

"Stark isn't one to hold someone's political views against them, or their offspring. That being said, I personally think he's siding with Secretary Ross because he's still harboring guilt for the Ultron incident. He's accepted the fact that he wouldn't have been so adamant about the program if Wanda hadn't shown him his worst fears."

"Put them in time-out, huh?" Laura crossed her arms and looked at the floor. "Has he said what he saw in the vision?"

Maria shook her head as she transferred bottles of salad dressing to the table. "Not out loud. But knowing him, it was probably something to do with his family and friends being killed, and he feels he could've prevented it."

"We all have that nightmare at one time or another."

"Let's hope my culinary skills don't turn out to be _your_ worst nightmare. Steve!" The intense conversation Steve had been having with Clint stopped, and the super-soldier appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Carry the crockpots to the table please?"

"Sure." He grabbed two oven mitts, and picked up the first of the pots.

Laura tried to help, but Clint intervened. "Why don't you get everyone washed up and to the table, honey? We got this."

By the time Laura reached the downstairs bathroom, Steve already had Cooper and Lila washing up. They dried, and presented their hands to him for inspection. He smiled. "You're good."

Steve turned the water on again, tested the temperature then picked Nathan off the floor, and helped him wash up too, all the time talking softly to the boy, not once acting as if he didn't understand.

Standing where she could see Steve and Maria, Laura reflected that they made an amazing couple, and would be fantastic parents one day, if that was something they both wanted.

Then, Steve was there, towering over her, a sheepish smile on his face. "Didn't mean to take over, Laura."

"It's fine, Steve. I appreciate everything all of you are doing to help out."

"Not a problem. You and Clint have great kids."

She tilted her head to the side, and grinned. "Yeah. We do."

Maria's voice called out from the kitchen, " _Dinner's ready!_ "

Steve followed Laura to the dining room, strapped Nathan into his high chair, and took a seat next to his fiancée, automatically taking her hand and Nathan's as they said grace.

 **Washington D.C.**

 **Two Days Later**

James parked in front of the synagogue, and sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel. He turned to look at Natasha when she touched his hand, and smiled. "He was the first person to treat me with kindness, and not judge on appearance."

"And you're wondering what he'll think of you now." He took a deep breath, and nodded. "The only way to know is to knock on the door."

She got out and came around to wait on the sidewalk for him to join her, taking his hand as they walked up to the door. James knocked, and soon he heard the distinctive shuffling of Norman's slippers to the accompaniment of a cat meowing.

The door opened, and Norman's wrinkled face peered out at them.

"Hello, Norman."

The old man's smile brightened, and his eyes lit up. At his feet, Lucy put her paws on the screen door, meowing loudly. "James, by boy! Come in, come in! It's good to see you, _boychick_."

Norman hugged him, and James returned the favor with less vigor so he wouldn't hurt the old man. "And you." James released him, and took Natasha's hand. "This is Natasha."

The old man grinned knowingly. "This _shiksa_ , I know." He hugged her as well. "Welcome, my dear."

"Thank you, Rabbi. It's good to see you again too."

He pulled back and led the way to the living room. "Come. Sit-sit-sit."

Lucy had been twining herself around James' legs, and the moment he sat down, she was in his lap, rubbing on him and purring. "I've missed you too, Lucy."

From his place on the end of the sofa, Norman pointed at the grey and white cat. "This little one went out and got herself _shvanger_."

James didn't understand, looking at Natasha with mild confusion. "Kittens, _malenkii_. Lucy had kittens." To Norman, she said, "Can we see them?"

Norman waved a hand. "No need. They'll come looking for Mama soon enough." His gaze landed on James again, those all-seeing eyes taking in the changes. "I see that you're no longer as troubled as you were."

Natasha took his hand, and James looked at her with affection. "It's all thanks to her."

"And now you're here together. That tells me all I need to know."

The humans were interrupted by the pattering of small feet coming down the hallway followed by four tiny kittens bursting into the room. They skidded to a stop, staring curiously at the two new humans in their midst. One kitten came forward to sniff first at Natasha's feet then at James'. Lucy meowed, and the other three came to perform the same ritual. Then, one at a time, they jumped up to dig their claws into the sofa, and pull themselves onto the seat. Again they went through the sniff routine before crawling over their guest's laps. They seemed to be especially interested in James' metal arm, the tabby more so than the rest.

Natasha picked up the grey and white kitten, turning it to look her in the eye. "Do they have names?"

"They do. That one is Kishka because she loves to do the bread-making on your _kishka_. That one," he pointed at the tabby with one white spot on the end of its tail, "…is Chaya, short for _vilda chaya_ , because he acts like a wild animal more than the rest. The mostly black one is Kvetch."

James stroked the kitten under the chin. "Why?"

"'Cause he spends all his time complaining. And that last one, she's called Bissela on account she was the smallest, the runt. Seems to have caught up though."

Kishka wiggled free and came to greet James, alternating digging each claw into his stomach. Kvetch lived up to his name by chasing down Bissela and tackling her. James chuckled, and Norman looked at him oddly. Not annoyed, but with wonder. He smiled, and sighed.

~~O~~

"The bed's small, so one of us might have to sleep on the sofa," James told Natasha as he led the way down the hall to the room he slept in on his previous visit. He pushed the door open, and his jaw dropped, or at least he gave the impression. A double bed had taken the place of the narrow twin that he said had been here before.

Natasha shifted her weight all onto one foot. "You were saying?"

"How did he know we'd need a bigger bed? I didn't tell him you'd be with me." She dropped her bag in the rocking chair that now sat in the corner, and James did the same before sitting on the bed to test it out.

"Norman's no ordinary Rabbi. He's intuitive, possibly all seeing, though not all telling." She peeked out the window, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, but then the people she associated with were trained on how to blend in. The blinds closed, and she pulled the sides of the curtain together, blocking the outside world from seeing in without special equipment. Her instincts told her they hadn't been followed, but caution kept them safe.

As she passed by on her survey of the room, James snagged her around the waist, pulling her close. "I'm glad we came."

"Me too. I-"

The door rattled, and James touched his forehead to hers. "That'll be Lucy. She takes closed doors as a personal affront."

"Most cats do." Natasha stepped back, and his arms fell away as she went to open the door. As soon as a crack appeared, Lucy pushed through, followed by her children. They got up on the bed, the kittens walking around, sniffing everything as if they hadn't been in this room before. Lucy went to James, and with the utmost care, he cradled her in his arms, talking softly to her. The cat's purr was loud enough to be heard out in the hall with the door closed.

"While we're here, we should have her spayed."

"Why?" James asked in a distracted tone.

Natasha sat next to him, and the kittens took that as permission to crawl in her lap. "There are so many unwanted cats and kittens in the world that there aren't enough homes for them all. In most big cities, there are shelters that will…" she knew he wouldn't like what she had to say, but he had to know the truth, "…they euthanize the unwanted cats and dogs. Having her spayed will prevent the deaths of innocent animals in the future. There are no-kill shelters, but they're often filled to capacity."

James held his breath for a moment, and Natasha could feel anger and revulsion coming from him. When he spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. "That's barbaric. Isn't there something we can do?"

Untangling Chaya's claws from her hair, Natasha grinned. "There is. Let's talk about it later. Norman's ordering dinner."

"From his favorite restaurant. He said it's the only place that serves kosher pizza."

Setting Chaya on the floor, and removing Bissela from inside her top, Natasha went to unpack their clothes, hanging the dressy items in the closet. They'd stopped on the way to buy something presentable for the worship service on Saturday. "I need to make a few phone calls before the food arrives."

James set Lucy on the bed, and moved in for a quick kiss before Natasha could leave. "To hold me until you come back."

" _Glupyy_ _chelovek_. I'll only be gone a few minutes."

He opened his mouth, and shut it again, a look of confusion crossing his features. "Natasha, while we were in hiding, you sometimes had to remind me to speak English. When Norman took me in, I didn't speak Russian."

"And your point is?"

"Why did I revert?"

Natasha rubbed her hands up and down his arms. "You know the difference now. Does it matter what happened before?"

The sensation of her hands lightly massaging his biceps calmed him again. "No. Go make your calls. I'll set the table, and see if Norman needs anything."

~~O~~

Bedtime came around, and Natasha was more than ready for sleep. She came from the bathroom carrying her clothes and personal hygiene kit. James was already in his pajamas, reading a book he'd taken from the bookshelf in the living room. He set it aside when she came in.

They went to opposite sides of the bed, lifted the covers and lay down with a sigh. James turned out the light, and if that were a signal, Lucy cried at the door. Resigned, Natasha went to let the cat in. She jumped on the bed, curling up next to James. Before Natasha could close the door, the kittens scurried into the room, and got on the bed too. Shaking her head, Natasha left the door ajar so they could leave without waking them. She set the kittens on James' stomach, and lay down again. The kittens crawled over her and James until they found a comfortable spot, and soon, everyone was asleep.

 **The Next Morning**

James eased away from Natasha, and slipped out of bed. Lucy and her kittens had left the room sometime during the night, making it easy to get up. Quietly gathering clean clothes, he went down the hall to shower, shave and get dressed for the day. At this time of day, Norman was usually in the kitchen making breakfast, but James didn't smell food cooking, and couldn't hear the scuffing of his slippers on the tile floor. He did a little dance to keep from tripping over Lucy who suddenly appeared at his feet, crying and running down the hall toward the kitchen. At the door, she looked back, meowing for him to hurry.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he rushed to the kitchen where he found Norman on the floor. He was breathing, but unconscious, a small trickle of blood on his forehead. "Natasha!"

The distress in James' voice brought her running out of the bathroom, first to the bedroom for a weapon then to the kitchen. In moments, she was at his side, one of the Makarovs in her left hand. She took in the scene, picked up the landline on the counter, and dialed.

" _9-1-1. What is your emergency?_ "

 **TBC**

 _Glupyy_ _chelovek_ = Silly man


	13. Chapter 57

**A/N:** Spoiler alert. This story immediately follows the events in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier,_ has spoilers for _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , and alludes to possible events in the up-coming _Captain America: Civil War_.

As always, many thanks go out to Lady Pandora, ladygris and CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for their input and opinions.

This story is on a temporary hiatus until after _Captain America: Civil War_. More will be posted depending on how emotionally compromised I am after seeing the movie. ;-)

Namaste,

Sunny

"I will come back to you, I swear I will;  
And you will know me still.  
I shall be only a little taller  
Than when I went."

― Edna St. Vincent Millay, _The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems_

 **Winter Soldier**

 **And You Will Know Me Still**

 **Part 3**

 **Chapter 57**

 **Barton Farm**

 **Two Days Ago**

The tension between Tony and Steve eased up a little with the return of Barton and his wife. And though Tony took it all in stride as if the ill will between them just rolled off his back, it was all a lie. The argument he had with Steve had gotten so volatile, it was reminiscent of the one on the helicarrier just before Banner turned into the Hulk, and Loki killed Coulson. Maria eventually sent them outside until they cooled off. Tony would've left had he not made a promise to watch over the Barton offspring.

He stepped out onto the porch when the phone rang, already knowing who it would be. "Pepper."

" _You forgot again, didn't you?_ "

"No, I didn't forget." The silence at the other end of the line said more than Pepper's words ever could. "What didn't I forget?"

His fiancée growled in the back of her throat. " _The board meeting. You promised you'd be there this time. It starts in forty minutes. Do_ not _disappoint me again._ "

Pepper hung up before he could respond. The phone went into his back pocket as he headed inside to take his leave. Lila hugged him, and just for a moment, Tony pictured a little girl with Pepper's red hair, and his brown eyes curled in his arms as he rocked her to sleep. He blinked, and the vision was gone.

He shared a fist bump with Cooper, and Nathan reached for him when it came his turn. Tony held him close, breathing in his powdery baby smell before handing him to his father.

Outside, the suit powered up as he approached. He backed up to it, and the metal alloy wrapped itself around him like a cocoon. "Jarvis, what is Pepper wearing to this boredom meeting?"

" _Ms. Potts is wearing an elegant heather grey chiffon dress, with black heels, sir. Shall I have something complimentary awaiting your arrival?_ "

"Please. Have it and the usual accessories placed in elevator three. I'll change on the way down."

The AI gave the impression he was scandalized by the thought. " _Sir, do you think that's wise? Elevator number three is an express to the conference level._ "

"Jarvis, I will bet you a weekend in Vegas with unlimited gambling funds that I won't get caught with my pants down."

" _But sir_ …"

Now it was Tony's turn to growl. "Just _do_ it, Jarvis. I'm coming up on O'Hare. You have twelve minutes."

" _Mind the eastbound air traffic, sir._ "

~~O~~

Pepper looked up when the conference room door opened, and Tony stepped out adjusting his shirt cuffs. She clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from hanging open. Most of the board members didn't bother. As always, Tony's tailor-made suit perfectly fit his lean frame. His silk shirt was so white it practically glowed in the overhead lights. The tie and pocket square were an exact match to the color of her dress, and when he raised his left hand to check the time, the light glinted off his favorite Rolex.

However, in his haste, Tony had forgotten to tick one important item on his check-list: his hair.

"At ease, ladies, and gentlemen. The Big Boss Man has arrived." He circled the table, shaking hands with various members, not noticing their wide-eyed stares. "Robert. How's the wife? Marissa, good to see you're still kicking. Darren, you've lost weight, and your hair. Elliott, I thought you were dead. Janet, sorry to hear about the divorce. Xiao-Li, welcome to New York." And so it went until he reached Pepper's side, sliding easily into the empty seat next to her. "Pepper and I have dinner reservations tonight, so let's get this over with."

The men and women sitting around the table finally dropped their eyes to their tablets, pretending great interest in the displays.

Out the side of her mouth, Pepper whispered, "What's going on, Tony?"

He leaned back, resting the right ankle on the left knee. "What's going on is this meeting is cutting into our quality time, and I'd like to get it over with ASAP."

She nudged him with her foot, touching her hair with her hand and lifting her chin. He finally got it, patting his own head, and pulling out a long, pink ribbon with silver sparkles attached to a plastic barrette. One by one, he pulled barrettes, ribbons, and bows from his hair, dropping them in a pile on the table in front of him. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled two more from his beard.

Without missing a beat, he raked his eyes over the assembled group, and sighed dramatically. "This, ladies and gentlemen of the board, is what happens when you let a six-year-old girl give you a make-over." Several of the members chuckled politely. It was almost more than Pepper could do to keep from laughing as Tony lifted one eyebrow, and tapped a fist on the table twice. "I now call this meeting to order. Pepper?"

 **Temple Shalom** **Synagogue**

 **Present**

Natasha fired off the address of Temple Shalom Synagogue, continuing with, "Male Caucasian, approximate age late eighties, height five-eight or -nine, weight one-forty. Pulse thready, respiration shallow. Found unconscious on the kitchen floor less than five minutes ago."

" _How long has he been unconscious?_ "

"Unknown. Please hurry." She hung up the phone and knelt next to James, giving Norman a quick examination for broken bones, finding none. Still, they dared not move him. James left, and returned with a blanket, using it to cover the older man. Lucy and her kittens prowled around, coming close to sniff at the man on the floor. Kvetch pawed at his hand, confused when there was no response.

James cocked his head to the side. "They're coming. I'll go let them in."

A moment later, Natasha could hear the sirens as well. They went silent then the front door opened, and she heard James' voice tight with worry. Two EMTs rushed into the kitchen pulling a stretcher, scaring the cats. They gave the men a wide berth as they scampered down the hall, and into the bedroom where she and James slept.

Two police officers were in the living room talking to James, eying him with suspicion. She shut the bedroom door on her way to the living room, touched him on the arm, nodding toward the kitchen. He moved away, and when he was gone, Natasha produced her government ID. This one purporting her to be with Homeland Security. "I've got this, officers. You'll have my report by the end of the day."

"If you don't mind me asking, Agent Romanoff, how do you know the Rabbi?'

"Rabbi Shulman is an old friend. We arrived last night for a visit."

The officers shared a look, the older of the two making the final decision. He shoved his thumbs into his belt, obviously thinking it made him appear intimidating. "It's department policy to remain on-site until the EMTs have done their job, just in case."

Holding in a huff, Natasha smiled genially. "Of course. Though I assure you, there was no foul play involved. The Rabbi hadn't been feeling well lately, though he refused to take time from his busy schedule to rest. He can be quite stubborn."

The officer nodded. "My mother-in-law's the same way." He tipped his hat. "We'll just wait outside, ma'am."

They both looked down the hall where James had gone to be with Norman then at each other before stepping outside, mostly likely with the intent of contacting their superiors to advise them that James had been spotted in D.C. With his pardon on record, and her presence, there was no good reason for them to arrest him. Not that she'd allow it.

The EMTs came through the living room with Norman on the stretcher, an IV drip in his left hand, and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Natasha held the door, sharing a concerned glance with James who stayed with them all the way to the ambulance. One of them should ride with Norman. She and James shared a nod as he climbed in the back. The door closed, and second EMT got behind the wheel.

Once the ambulance pulled away from the curb with the lights flashing, Natasha closed the door, and went to Norman's desk in the den to look for information on his family. The Rabbi used a pad and pen to write a rough draft of his sermons before typing them into his laptop. That meant he most likely went old-school with his phone numbers and addresses.

A thorough search of the desk was futile. She found nothing in the den or the living room either. That left the bedroom or his office in the chapel.

Opting to start with the bedroom, Natasha put her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and let herself in. The cats scurried past her legs in their haste to get inside. Thankfully, she didn't have to go through his sock and underwear drawers. She found a rolodex on the bedside table, already turned to S. The card showing bore the contact information for Shulman, Dr. Robert John. His home address was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The number for the landline had been crossed out leaving cell and work numbers.

Carrying the rolodex to the living room, Natasha sat in Norman's usual spot, picked up the landline, and dialed. It was answered on the third ring. "Dr. Shulman, my name is Natasha Romanoff. I'm a friend of your father's. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you…"

 **Washington General Hospital**

 **ICU**

Norman's son, Robert, daughter-in-law, Sarah, and oldest grandson, Mark arrived together three hours later. After the introductions, Robert and Sarah had given James and Natasha a strange look, as if they couldn't conceive of them being friends with the elderly Rabbi because they weren't Jewish. Surely Norman had more friends outside his faith than just Natasha and he. Or was it their ages?

The antiseptic smell of the hospital reminded James of being a prisoner of HYDRA. Any moment now, he expected to see one of the doctors come around the corner with a syringe in hand. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but it didn't help calm his racing heart. Nor did the worried faces of Norman's family as they paced around, drank coffee, and whispered among themselves.

James wanted to say something to them, but wasn't sure what. Natasha's warm hand wrapped around his, squeezing for comfort. He looked down at their entwined fingers, hers so much smaller that it looked like a child's in comparison. "Natasha…"

The doctor appeared in the doorway, his expression grim. "Dr. Shulman, I'm sorry. We've done everything we can. Your father is stubborn, and refused to take his condition seriously. All we can do now is make him comfortable." He stepped back, gesturing down the hall. "He wants to see you."

As the family moved out of sight, James and Natasha stood. He grabbed hold of her hand, and pulled her down the hall in the opposite direction. They took the stairs to ground level and exited the front door. Outside, he stopped with his face turned up into the sun with his eyes closed. It didn't see right that his friend was dying, and the sun was shining. It should be raining with thunder rolling across the land.

"James?"

"His family is saying good-bye, but I can't. It hurts too much." He hit himself in the chest over his heart, keeping his face turned away. "Is this how the families and friends felt after I killed those people?"

Natasha touched him on the arm, and he finally let their eyes meet. She smiled sadly. "I imagine so, _malenkii_. When someone we care about leaves us, it's natural to mourn the loss."

"I only knew him a few weeks. Hadn't seen him for over a year, yet I keep thinking how empty my life will be without him. Is it wrong that I'm thinking of myself, and not him?"

"Not at all. It's how we all feel. Norman and I only met on two occasions, and it's the same for me. Some people come into our lives, and are there for what seems like forever. Others may only be with you a day, an hour, or even five minutes, and they have such a profound impact that you feel you've known them forever. That's life as we know it. It's also why each day should be lived like it's your last, because it just might be."

Abruptly, James turned away from her. "Then perhaps it should be."

"What do you mean?"

"I killed all those people, yet I'm free to walk around as if nothing happened." Tilting his head back, he looked up at the imposing stone façade of the hospital. "It's not…"

Natasha snorted derisively. "Fair? Nothing about life is fair. And there's nothing we can do about it." Her fingers tightened on his arm briefly. "Wait here. I'll go get us something to drink."

Then she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Not such a good thing. His thoughts kept coming back to the families. How did they cope with their loss? Did they become angry, filled with thoughts of revenge like Wanda and Pietro? Cry? Sit in the dark, staring out the window, removed from the world that was so cruel as to take their loved one?

The more he thought about it, the more there seemed only one way to atone for his many sins.

~~O~~

Natasha paid for the two iced coffees, small for herself, and the super-sized for James, thanked the cashier, and returned to where she'd left him waiting. Turning in a circle, she searched the area, but didn't see him. She was about to give him a call when people around her looked up, pointing, and whispering.

Backing up, Natasha saw James standing on the parapet surrounding the roof. He was doing anything. Just standing and staring down at the ground.

A man came up beside her. "He gonna jump?"

Putting on a cheery smile, Natasha backed up and faced the crowd. "Nothing to worry about, folks. We're filming a stunt for a new movie coming out this fall."

The possibility of being in on something no one else knew about energized the crowd.

"What's it called?"

"Can we be extras? I'll do it for _free_."

"Where're the cameras?" Natasha pointed her chin at the building across the street.

"Who's starring? Is it Tom Cruise?" To the person next to her, the woman said, "I bet it's another _Mission Impossible_. I _love_ those movies."

"Who's directing?"

"Can't say. Gotta go. When the star wants his Starbuck's, he wants it now." Natasha rushed to the elevators, waiting impatiently for the doors to open. She jumped in the first one, and hit the button for the top floor. From there, she took the stairs up to the roof. James still stood on the parapet directly across from the door, shoulders slumped. She had to get him down before someone realized that there was no film crew hiding in the building across the street, and called the SWAT team, and a negotiator.

Setting the coffee on a table, Natasha cautiously approached James. He had to know she was there, and proved it by looking over his shoulder. "Stay back, Natasha."

"What are you doing, James? Come down before you fall."

James didn't respond for a long time. Then, he inhaled and exhaled. "Matthew 5:38."

"Excuse me?" He shifted his feet, and Natasha held her breath, fearing he would jump.

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, 'an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth'."

In an attempt to lighten the conversation, Natasha huffed. "That's a fine sentiment, except we all end up blind and toothless." He didn't rise to the bait except to move closer to the edge. "James, I love you, and so does Steve. If you jump, think about how we'll feel when you're gone. What you're going through now will stay with us for a long, long time because we couldn't stop you. It's call survivor's guilt. Steve experienced it first-hand. There were so many times he wished he'd tried to find you after you fell from the train. If he had, HYDRA wouldn't have grown inside of SHIELD, and we wouldn't be trying to rebuild our intelligence network in secret." She knew he was listening from the way his shoulders tensed.

"If that doesn't convince you, then think about this: before the fight on the bridge and in the streets, Pierce tried to have Steve killed by trapping him in an elevator with a strike team. He knocked them all out, and jumped more than ten stories to get away. He walked away with only a few scratches and bruises. This building is only ten floors. The most you'll do is break a bone, which will heal within a few days. And while you're in the hospital, the doctors will put you in a psych ward for observation. Do you really wanna go there again?"

Again, James inched closer to the edge, swaying slightly, just a small back and forth motion, as if he were thinking over what she said. To help him decide, Natasha picked up the coffee cups, and turned away. "If you really want to kill yourself, nothing I say will change your mind. Just don't expect me to stand here and watch."

~~O~~

James heard Natasha's footsteps fade away as she left him alone. Soon, he couldn't hear her anymore, and that disturbed him nearly as much as remembering all the lives he'd destroyed.

On the ground, a crowd had gathered, milling around and watching to see what he'd do. Some people got a thrill from seeing death, and destruction. To his mind, they were as sick and twisted as those who had kept him prisoner for seventy years, and he would not give them the satisfaction of watching him die.

James turned around, jumped onto the roof, and made his way down to the first floor peering around the corner, waiting for the crowd to leave. Thankfully, security moved them along until the only one left was Natasha. Her back was to the entrance, sipping from her cup.

He ambled over, accepting the full cup from her, and taking a long drink. The caffeine and sugar had no effect on him. He just liked the taste. "I wasn't going to jump." Natasha slanted a glance at him. "Sometimes, I just need to be up high where I can see everything, and think without distractions. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about killing myself as a way to end the pain. I also know jumping wouldn't have worked." He waved at the hospital. "Steve and I both fell more than twice that height from the helicarrier, and all I got out of it was a sore shoulder, and a mild concussion."

"You also saved Steve's life."

Taking Natasha's hand, he drew her over to one of the benches that lined the walkway. "While I was up there, I had an idea. We should do something to honor Norman."

Natasha finally looked at him, and smiled. "We should. And I have something in mind."

Norman's son came out the front entrance, looked around, and headed for them. From his attitude, he had something on his mind. "I've been looking for you. James, is it?"

"Yes."

Robert waved vaguely in the direction of the building. "Dad wants to see you." At their hesitation, his voice took on a pleading tone. "Please come. He doesn't have much longer."

James handed his drink to Natasha, and as he passed, Robert said, "He's been alone since my mother passed away. Thank you for being his friend."

Not wanting to give too much away, James held in a sigh. "It's me who should be thanking him. Norman took me in when I was… lost. Without him, I'd _still_ be lost."

Robert and James shook hands then James went inside to say good-bye to his friend.

 **Two Months Later**

Holding Lucy in his arms, James perused the crowd gathered on the sidewalk in front of the building. Some held pet carriers and leashes. Others whispered excitedly to their companions. Footsteps behind him announced Natasha's approach.

"…Of course, Mr. Nystrom. We look forward to meeting you… And thank you for the generous donation… Yes, sir. Good-bye." Natasha ended her call, dropped the phone in her back pocket, and went to the front door. "Ready for the official opening of the Tails in the City Cat and Dog Rescue?"

"I am."

Natasha opened the door, standing back to let their visitors in, everyone staring around at the décor, and talking about the cat or dog they hoped to find. Many stopped to read the plaque under the painting of a smiling older man in a black yarmulke, wearing a prayer shawl, and holding a grey and white cat.

 _This facility is dedicated to Rabbi Norman Shulman, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, friend_

It was followed by the years of his birth, and death.

James put Lucy down, and the long-haired cat trotted off. She took her duties as the office cat seriously, and it was time for her morning inspection. "Quite a crowd."

"You're not nervous, are you?"

"Not really. I…" The side door opened and closed, letting in Steve, Maria, and Clint.

The men shook hands, Steve staring at everything. "Looks great."

Natasha poked Clint in the shoulder. "This guy did most of the work himself."

Clint grinned sheepishly. "Happy to help. What about a quick tour?"

James waved. "Help yourself."

To which Natasha added, "Stay out of trouble."

The archer gave them a mocking salute, and wandered away.

When he didn't come back, James went looking, and found him on the adult cat patio, kneeling next to a little girl and her mother. The child was wiggling her fingers, playing with an all-white adult cat with short hair who'd come to the shelter two weeks ago. Her family had to give her up when their youngest child developed severe allergies.

The girl, a little older than Clint's daughter, seemed undecided. She kept glancing at the other room where the kittens were chasing each other, and play fighting. To help her decide, Clint sat on the floor, urging her to sit next to him. He picked up the cat, and let the girl hold her while he went down the list of reasons to adopt an older cat. That the animal was purring was a great motivator.

Clint whispered to the girl, making her laugh. She looked up at her mother, receiving a smile and a nod in response. The girl hugged the cat with a delighted grin. Getting to his feet, Clint led the girl and her mother through to the adoption desk where he left them in the capable hands of Zoe Ingram, their adoption specialist, and her staff.

By the end of the day, Tails in the City, TitC, had completed twelve cat and dog adoptions with the possibility of more, and had taken in another ten or so animals. For now, they were only using the first floor, with the second story in the process of being remodeled for the time when they grew beyond their current confines. And again, Clint was supervising.

James, Natasha, Lucy, and her kittens crawled into bed around midnight, satisfied that they'd made Norman proud.

 **Brooklyn**

 **The Brownstone**

 **Several Weeks Later**

Steve hung up the phone, and turned to look at Maria standing in the kitchen doorway. He let out a long breath, and nodded.

"When?"

"Next week. He didn't say, but I got the feeling we're all expected to be there, except for Bruce and Thor." Maria put her arm around Steve's waist. "Ross has it in for anyone who exhibits supernormal abilities. Calls them Inhumans. Calls _us_ Inhumans. He especially hates Bruce."

"Because he was once engaged to his daughter."

They moved into the living room, sitting heavily on the sofa. "The task force includes several strike squads for bringing in those who refuse to appear when summoned. Some of which were recruited from former SHIELD members, and have experience dealing with people who have special abilities."

"I've tried contacting Coulson to see what his opinion is, but he's not returning my calls. He can't possibly be onboard with this, can he? He has Inhumans on his team."

Maria took his hand. "If it comes down to a fight, he'll be on your side."

"You only have to choose sides in a war. And this isn't war."

"Are you sure?"

Steve got to his feet, moving over to lean on the mantel above the fireplace. "Not sure of anything, except that I won't sign the accords."

"So you think 'superheroes' shouldn't be held accountable for their actions?"

"Didn't say that." He didn't mean to snap at her, and she seemed to understand. "We try to do the right thing, then along comes a group of souped up humans with no moral or ethical values giving the rest of us a bad reputation."

Maria stood, and stretched. "Forget about it for now, and let's get a shower, and go to bed."

She held out her hand, and he took it. "Best offer I've had all day."

 **The Office of Secretary of State**

 **Thaddeus Ross**

 **The Following Week**

Ross flipped quickly through a slideshow of destruction. "New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia."

Seeing Wanda's anguish at the reminder of the destruction of her home, and knowing she was once again living through her twin's death, Steve wondered how anyone, no matter their motivations, could do that to her. "Okay, that's enough."

The screen went dark. "Captain, people are afraid. While a great many people see you as a hero, there are some who prefer the word vigilante. You've operated with unlimited power, and no supervision. That's something the world can no longer tolerate."

Steve glanced over at Natasha, hoping to see defiance of Ross, and his accords. Instead, she looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

 **Washington D.C.**

The rasp of the zipper sounded loud in the quiet of the bedroom as Natasha closed the duffle bag, and hooked it over her shoulder, glancing around the room one last time to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. She picked up the wheeled suitcase, and made her way down to the first floor. Voices coming from the living room told her that Steve, Clint, Scott, and Wanda had arrived.

Natasha wanted to go to them, to explain why she'd chosen to side with Secretary Ross and Stark, but what good would it do? They would have to have a long talk once this was all over.

She propped an envelop on the table at the bottom of the stairs, and softly closed the front door behind her.

 **TBC**


End file.
